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THE TRANSACTIONS 
OF OLIVER PRINCE 


V 


J 

The 

TRANSACTIONS 

of 

OLIVER PRINCE 

By 

ROBERT ERSTONE FORBES 



NEW YORK 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
1924 





Copyright, 1924 , 

BY 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 


V 


4 
i t 


PRINTED IN 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


VAIL-BALLOU PRESS, INC. 

BINGHAMTON AND NLW YORK 


AUG 20 i924 

Cl A 8 013 0 2 


(L. 


X t O 


TO 

CHARLES 

WHO IS CONSTANTLY ENJOYING 
SOME IMPROBABLE ADVENTURE 
OF THE KIND HERE RECORDED 

















THE TRANSACTIONS 
OF OLIVER PRINCE 



CHAPTER 1 


Young Oliver Prince, late Midshipman in the Royal 
Naval Reserve, was marching very rapidly up and 
down one of the busiest streets in Bournsea. He wore 
a dark blue suit and a light cloth cap perched jauntily 
at the true Beatty angle. His hands were thrust deep 
down into his pockets, and there was a frown—rather 
a comical frown—on his forehead. In point of fact he 
was indignant and angry. A few minutes before, he 
had been watching a white schooner sail gracefully out 
of the harbour. The schooner, he knew, belonged to 
the Duke of Kirkaldy, who, according to the news¬ 
papers, was proposing to cruise slowly up the East 
Coast—an ideal holiday; whereas he, Oliver Prince, 
was fated next Monday to begin a dull commercial 
career in a bank. 

Mr. Prince was not merely indignant and angry; 
he was inclined to be mutinous. The grandson of 
General Sir Oswald Prince, V.C., a hero whose name 
appeared in every modern History of England, forced 
to earn a paltry two pounds a week in a wretched little 
seaside bank! It was humiliating and—unnatural. 

“Beastly,” said Mr. Prince for the twentieth time, 
and increased his pace. 

It was all so cruelly unexpected and unfair; un¬ 
expected because, hitherto, things had always gone so 


2 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

well for him, and unfair because—well, to be handi¬ 
capped in this way through no fault of your own was 
unfair. His old messmates were not being forced to 
accept fifth-rate positions. Stevens and Pumphrey 
had obtained regular commissions in the Navy. The 
Honourable Lavery Doune in all probability had more 
money than he could possibly spend. Ashley had gone 
into his father’s business, and owned a fine car. Yet 
for himself nothing better could be found than this 
clerkship in a miserable bank. 

He uttered a picturesque curse which he had first 
heard in Cape Town during a memorable cruise in 
H.M.S. King Henry. It really was beastly, all the 
beastlier because although people were constantly tak¬ 
ing him for twenty-two or even twenty-three, his 
real age was nineteen years and one month. Legally 
speaking, he was not his own master. Of course no¬ 
body dared nowadays to treat him as a kid, but- 

“Damnable,” said Mr. Prince, and narrowly escaped 
destruction as a large automobile swept past him. 

Couldn’t they understand that Nature had never 
intended him for any such humdrum career? Hadn’t 
they realized that his surprising adventures in the war, 
to say nothing of his ancestry, had totally unfitted 
him for any such work? A bank for him! For the 
fellow who had discovered that German spy on board, 
and been thanked by the Admiral? And a bank in 
Bournsea of all places, where nothing ever happened 
and dancing was considered unseemly! Yet as things 
were, he would be expected to go to that bank at the 
same hour every morning, and sit at the same desk, 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


3 


and fill up columns in ridiculous ledgers! Why, 
surely, they must understand- 

They did understand, and that was the worst of 
it. Both his mother and old Mr. Waynflete under¬ 
stood, but were powerless to help. Money was 
wanted, and, according to them, he was really in luck 
to obtain any job at all. Money was so badly wanted 
that his mother had been forced to take a lodger into 
their tiny house in a side street. 

A lodger, if you please! And before the war they 
had been living in that jolly house on the hills out¬ 
side Sandmouth, with a garden and a workshop and 
servants. Mr. Waynflete, of course, was not the 
ordinary lodger. He was a friend of long standing 
and a delightful old gentleman when you came to 
know him; but it ought never to have been necessary 
to take a lodger at all. In a decently-ordered world, 
they would have been able to buy a fine mansion in the 
country, and keep.a car: as things were, his mother 
could barely manage to pay the weekly bills, and there 
was only that forty pounds of his own in the savings- 
banks. 

And a black future. 

Yet only a short time ago he had been dreaming 
of the day when a certain Admiral Sir Oliver Prince, 
K.C.B. (with a shadowy Lady Prince on his arm) 
would be escorting his mother, freed from all her 
financial troubles, into some such castle as that Duke 
with the yacht probably possessed. 

Suddenly he stopped, and stared blankly ahead. 
He had reached the end of the narrow street, and 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


4 

what was generally allowed to be the dirtiest harbour 
in England had come into view again. In front of 
him two fishermen were arguing indelicately about 
football. Away on the horizon a yawl was crossing 
the line. A tug was getting up steam near to that 
old submarine which was waiting to be scrapped. 
Young Prince, however, was not noticing these things. 
An eager look had come into his face. A new and 
startling Idea had broken into his thoughts. He 
lifted up his head and smiled at the skies. Then with 
a happy chuckle he rushed on to the quay, and sat 
down, and allowed his legs to dangle over the edge, 
and gazed down at the oily waters below. . . . 

At first things were vague, and the Idea seemed 
to be hidden behind a job lot of old memories. He 
found himself thinking of a lighthouse to which, years 
ago, he had gone with his father. He had been 
mightily thrilled, but spoilt an otherwise excellent 
day by stupidly falling down its narrow stairway. 
He ought to have broken his neck, but miraculously 
he had escaped with a few bruises. Then he seemed 
to be in that ghastly railway accident which had killed 
his father and left him unharmed. That picture, 
however, quickly faded, and Mr. Waynflete seemed to 
be telling him stories of adventure. An incident at 
school intervened, and he saw himself winning that 
final round in the boxing competition. They had told 
him that he possessed not the smallest chance, and of 
course it had been a lucky blow of his; but he had won 
the competition, and it had been the proudest moment 
of his life. Well—almost. The affair with the spy 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 5 

had perhaps been more thrilling. That, too, had 
been lucky, although the Admiral had told him that 
he deserved his luck. As Ashley had remarked, he 
had been devilish cunning. . . . Then those old 
memories seemed to be changing into visions of the 
future. Admiral Sir Oliver Prince, K.C.B., had 
been blotted out, but in his place there were other 
Oliver Princes—financial magnates or statesmen or 
peers. It seemed that there might be a Lord Bournsea 
who married a very beautiful girl (the face indistinct 
but surprisingly lovely), and lived in a marble house 
with billiard rooms and a swimming-bath and other 
luxurious delights. And then, as the Idea showed 
signs of becoming concrete, the marble house faded 
away to show him the King Henry after that scrap 
off the coast of Spain. The Captain was saying that 
he, Prince, had the luck of the devil. By rights he 
ought to have been killed, or at least badly wounded, but 
he had come through untouched. Well, he was one of 
the lucky ones, and he had only to trust to his luck to 

win through in life. Which meant- 

It meant mutiny. Or, rather, it meant striking 
out for himself. The war had taught him to depend 
on his own wits. He could be devilish cunning when 
he chose. Ashley had said so. Besides, it stood to 
reason that he understood himself better than did Mr. 
Waynflete or old Carstairs who had offered him the 
clerkship. Naturally his mother understood very little 
about these matters. Two pounds a week would help 

her, of course, but if he were to go his own way- 

A bank-clerk? It was ridiculous. The Idea re- 




6 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

fused definitely to have anything to do with a bank 
except as a place where he could put the large sums 
of money he was going to earn by his wits. It re¬ 
fused to sanction any monotonous regime. It insisted 
on adventure and excitement and—well, that sort of 
thing. 

“I’ve been forgetting my luck,” he muttered. ‘Til 
—I’ll go up to London. To-morrow or Monday. 
Something ’ll turn up. It's got to!” 

He looked very fierce for a moment, and then 
laughed out aloud. . . . 

No doubt it was all most improper. Love of ad¬ 
venture may be the prerogative of youth, but if you 
are called on to support your mother, and there hap¬ 
pens to be a vacancy in the bank round the corner, 
your duty seems clear. You must go to that bank, 
and work hard, and take your fill of adventure in¬ 
expensively at the Picture Palaces. This, indeed, 
was the view taken by Mr. Waynflete that evening, 
when at a Council of Three Mr. Prince coolly an¬ 
nounced his intention of going to London “to have 
a look round” before burying himself in a bank. 

“It’s sheer madness,” said the old gentleman. 

But Mr. Prince had come to the Council well 
primed. He had spent most of the afternoon sitting 
by himself on the cliffs, dreaming delightfully, it is 
true, of the rosiest future, but at the same time busily 
elaborating arguments which would have weight. His 
friends would help. There was Lavinia, for instance, 
the Honourable Lavery Doune, Lord Bellchester’s 
eldest son. In the King Henry he had been able to 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 7 

do L&vinia a good turn: well, help might be forth¬ 
coming from that quarter. Ashley, moreover, might 
be of assistance, and, if need be, he would go to the 
Admiral himself at Whitehall. The Admiral liked 
him. And it wasn’t as if he were asking his mother 
to pay for this visit to London. He would be sup¬ 
porting himself, and would even be helping by his 
absence from Bournsea. Naturally it didn’t cost so 
much to feed two people as it did to feed three. 

“I’ve thought it all out,” he told Mr. Waynflete. 
“I may not earn much at the beginning, but after¬ 
wards when I’ve met the right people-” 

“It’s nonsense,” said the old gentleman. 

Mrs. Prince, a kindly unpretentious woman, for¬ 
ever in a state of wonder at her handsome and 
brilliant and surprisingly adult son, was trying to 
understand. There were times in the past when 
Oliver had been “difficult,” although no woman could 
have asked for a more affectionate son. But what 
was she to say of this new scheme of his? Was it 
really as mad as Mr. Waynflete seemed to think? 
The boy, so far, had done exceedingly well, and he 
had depended upon nothing but his own personality. 
She, too, had looked forward to a distinguished naval 
career for him, but when circumstances had made that 
impossible and her old friend Louis Carstairs had 
offered to take the boy into his bank, she had thanked 
Providence for the chance. Now, however, Oliver 
seemed doubtful about the bank, and she was prepared 
to believe him when he said that he could do very 
much better in London. On the other hand Mr. 



8 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

Waynflete was definitely against any such project, and 
there was Louis Carstairs to consider. 

“I think, you know,” she remarked, “Mr. Car- 
stairs might be offended.” 

“Mr. Carstairs,” said her son loftily, as he smoothed 
his fair hair, “means well, but he doesn’t understand. 
If you’ve been in the Navy-” 

“But, look here, my boy,” interrupted Mr. Wayn¬ 
flete, “d’you realize there’s more unemployment in 
London than anywhere else?” 

The boy looked at him, and there was a little scorn 
and considerable affection in his tones as he replied. 
“You needn’t have a regular job to make money. If 
you’re lucky, things come your way. Adventure 
and-” 

“Bless my stars, but we’re not living in the 
eighteenth century. You’re not proposing to become 
a new sort of highwayman, are you? No, no, no. 
You must think of the thing soberly. You can’t live 
on nothing in London. I’ve tried it, and know.” 
He smiled rather sadly, and stroked his untidy grey 
beard. Mr. Waynflete was a failure, and knew it. 
Yet once a distinguished career might have been his. 
As private secretary to a former Lord Oxney—the 
Oxneys still reigned not twenty miles from Bournsea 
—he had had political opportunities of which a man 
of ambition would have taken advantage, but John 
Waynflete had always been a dreamy scholar, dis¬ 
inclined to assert himself, a negative person. Now 
with an annuity just sufficient for his needs, he spent 
his days writing a book on heraldry which would never 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 9 

be finished. He was a tired old man who wore shiny 
black clothes, and whose fingers were stained by 
tobacco. 

“But I shan’t have nothing to live on, Mr. Wayn- 
flete, and I mean to get on. I want to meet people 
and see things. I’m quite old enough to take care 
of myself, and as soon as I earn any money, I 
shall come back and give half to mother.” 

“Yes, Oliver, but-” 

The boy was smiling. “If you’ve been in the 
Navy,” said he, “you’ve learnt to take risks. And 
it’s my experience that if you don’t take risks, you 
won’t get far. I’ve been thinking it all out. It 
was decent of old Carstairs to offer me the job, and 
I thought I ought to take it because it did mean some 
money, but I’d hate the work, and I shouldn’t get pro¬ 
motion, and—well,” he added, while that comical 
frown surmounted a pair of very blue eyes, “I’ve 
definitely made up my mind. I know I shall succeed 
if I get to know the right people, but here-” 

“But it’s suicidal to go up to London on the off 
chance of—of getting on.” Mr. Waynflete was 
trying to be angry—a very difficult matter, he gen¬ 
erally found, with this attractive good-looking boy. 
“You’ve no business experience. None.” 

“No, but I’ve always been lucky.” 

The old gentleman put out a hand. “Really, Oliver, 
you’re talking very stupidly indeed. What has luck 
to do with the question? Competition is far too keen 
these days in London for a country boy to make good. 
Money nowadays doesn’t come from—er, adventure; 




10 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

it comes from hard solid grind. A bank, of course, 
isn’t thrilling, after what you’ve been through, but the 
war is over, and—oh, my dear boy, don’t be pig¬ 
headed. You’ve nothing-” 

“Forty pounds,” corrected Mr. Prince, “and five 
suits of very good clothes.” 

(Yes, he had been right to take that Lieutenant’s 
advice. Clothes made in Savile Row might prove a 
lucky investment now that he was not going to bury 
himself in a Bournsea bank.) 

“But don’t you think, dear,” ventured his mother, 
“you’d better try the bank first?” 

“I’ll try the bank,” promised her son, “if I fail.” 

Mr. Waynflete continued to protest against so mad 
a scheme, but the boy had made up his mind. In 
the time-honoured way he was going to seek his for¬ 
tune in London, and if luck meant anything at all, 
and his old cunning had not altogether deserted him, 
that fortune was going to materialize somehow or 
other. 

It was not perhaps a very dreadful mutiny, and 
when Mr. Carstairs was told, he did not seem as 
upset as Mr. Prince privately considered that he 
should have been. But the banker had known the 
youngster for years, and could not forget one or two 
practical jokes. Moreover he was not at all sure that 
the Navy in war-time was a good preparation for 
work in a bank. In any case, as he laughingly told 
Mrs. Prince, the boy was bound to get on. 

“You really think so?” At this time Mrs. Prince 
was not attempting to conceal her anxiety. 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE n 


“Of course I do. With a face like that, what finer 
letter of introduction does he want?” 

On the other hand Mr. Waynflete prophesied disas¬ 
ter, and when Mr. Prince slyly remarked that it was 
the old gentleman who had first given him a taste for 
adventure, he shut himself up in his room, and pre¬ 
tended to sulk. 

But when the actual moment of departure arrived 
on the Monday morning, he seemed just as excited 
as the boy himself. 

“And if you get into trouble,” said he with a chuckle, 
“just send a wire.” 

Mr. Prince assumed an air of great dignity. “I’m 
not going to London to get into trouble,” he replied. 
“I’m going to make money.” 

His mother was trying to smile. She was thinking 
of the day when Oliver had first left her to join his 
ship. “Write every day,” she whispered, and pressed 
three pound notes into his hand. 

Mr. Prince felt that he had already become almost 
a millionaire. 


CHAPTER II 


It is recorded that an enterprising young man once 
hired a plainly furnished office in the City and the 
services of a very small boy. He caused his name to 
be printed in large letters on the glazed door, and— 
waited for something to happen. For a week he dozed 
peacefully enough during office-hours, and the boy 
devoured a larger number of gory romances than he 
could usually manage in the time. There were occa¬ 
sional visitors, but all of them were strictly uncom¬ 
mercial. The young man had no particular notion as 
to the kind of business that he wished to transact, but 
hoped for the best. Then one day a South American 
gentleman called and mistook him for an importer of 
Dutch bulbs. He did not immediately discover his 
mistake. The young man duly imported bulbs, and 
from that moment never looked back. He finished a 
blameless career in the House of Lords. 

Now Mr. Prince was firmly resolved to make his 
fortune in London, but details of any methods which 
he proposed to adopt had not yet presented themselves. 
Money would flow into his coffers somehow or other, 
but just how or by what agency this agreeable phe¬ 
nomenon was to take place, he did not know. It was 
enough that he had definitely cut himself off from the 
bank. Things, he felt, would just happen. They al- 
12 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


13 


ways had happened. He was one of the lucky ones. 
He would just find himself embarked on some curious 
adventure, and then he would draw on that cunning of 
his, and rake in the shekels. 

And as luck would have it, adventure began less 
than half an hour after he had left Bournsea. 

As the train glided out of the station, it seemed 
to him incredible that he had ever agreed to work in 
a bank. Here he was a gentleman at large—in a third- 
class compartment, it was true, but at Oxney Junction 
he had every intention of changing into a first. Every¬ 
thing was to be of the best. And once again he could 
believe in his own star. He was completely his own 
master. . . . 

Yes, there was Sandmouth, that grey speck away 
to the right, and in a few minutes’ time he would be 
hurtling through its station. Then a straight run to 
Oxney, where he would change into the London ex¬ 
press, and then- 

At Oxney Junction something extraordinary 
happened. 

To reach the London train he was obliged to cross 
by a subway. He was about to submit his ticket for 
inspection when the stationmaster happened to see him, 
and in defiance of all etiquette, seized hold of the small 
bag he was carrying, and with extreme politeness hur¬ 
ried him to the train. 

“Just in nice time, my lord,” said he, as he opened 
the door of a first-class smoking compartment in which 
a smartly-dressed young man was sitting; “and your 
other luggage, my lord?” 



i 4 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

Afterwards Mr. Prince considered that he had be¬ 
haved very coolly. 

A porter, he explained, had his other bag. Yes, 
this was a most comfortable carriage. The day could 
not have been finer, and with reasonable luck they 
might hope to be at Waterloo upon time. A shilling 
was about to change hands when it occurred to him that 
a half-crown might better fit the occasion. 

The stationmaster was obviously delighted, and 
showed no signs of departing. “And her ladyship?” 
he inquired. “I hope she is well, my lord?” 

Mr. Prince could not help noticing that the young 
man opposite was showing interest. “Very well, 
thank you,” he replied, and silently hoped that the train 
would start without delay. 

“You must excuse me, my lord,” the stationmaster 
was continuing, “but we always say here that no one 
could believe the Countess of Oxney was your mother.” 

Mr. Prince smiled as naturally as he could. Even 
outside Oxney, he was thinking, there were numbers 
of people who would never have believed that the 
Countess was his mother. But it was necessary to 
say something. The young man, he could see, was 
listening. “My mother,” he admitted, “does keep sur¬ 
prisingly young.” He took up his Daily Pictorial, and 
the stationmaster perceived that he had been dismissed. 

“Good morning, my lord, and thank you.” 

The door was closed, a whistle was blown, and the 
London express started upon its hundred mile run. 

Mr. Prince looked at a picture of maidens pretend¬ 
ing to bathe, but his thoughts were elsewhere. My 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 15 

lord this and my lord that, and his mother the 
Countess : why, it was all like a lopsided dream! How 
on earth had it happened? He had never before been 
taken for that young Earl of Oxney who only a few 
months ago had been celebrating his coming-of-age. 
But was he so like the fellow? He supposed he must 
be, and smiled. It was rather good fun to be taken 
for an earl, and his thoughts twined themselves into an 
absurd little phantasy of the future, when he would 
really be the Earl of Bournsea, travelling first-class as 
a matter of course, and having stationmasters to carry 
his luggage. And then it seemed as though he had 
really and miraculously been transformed, and actually 
was a young peer—in fact Lord Oxney himself, who 
was popularly supposed to have almost as much money 
as the Duke of Kirkaldy himself. And this young 
peer, of course, was going to London to speak in the 
House of Lords, or to visit his vast properties in 
Mayfair. He would stay at the Ritz or the Savoy, 
and drink the most expensive wines, and order as many 
suits of clothes as he liked, and dance every night. . . . 
It was really rather a pity that the carriage contained 
only one other passenger. But so long as somebody 

was there- “My name? Oh, er, Lord Oxney.” 

That was what he would say, should they get into con¬ 
versation. He was not likely to meet the young man 
again, so a little deception wouldn’t matter. 

And how amused Mr. Waynflete would have been! 
The old boy had actually spent years of his life at 
Oxney Towers. 

It was the greatest fun, even though there was no 



16 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


possible chance of the stationmaster at Waterloo mak¬ 
ing the same mistake. 

Mr. Prince mechanically turned over the pages of 
his newspaper, and with a little shock realized that 
he was looking at a portrait of the Countess of Oxney 
herself. What a curious coincidence! His blood 
seemed to be suddenly tingling. He had not even 
reached London, and yet already a sort of adventure 
had begun! He stared at the portrait. At its side 
was one of “A Society Bird’s” paragraphs. 

“Amongst the latest arrivals at the Ritz is the beau¬ 
tiful Countess of Oxney, who tells me that she is in 
town for a few weeks before leaving for America. 
Young Lord Oxney, whose coming-of-age was recently 
celebrated, prefers his ancestral home to London, and 
proposes to remain at Oxney Towers for the glorious 
twelfth.” 

Mr. Prince re-read that paragraph half a dozen 
times, and smiled to himself. Then he looked out 
of the window, and tried to compose some exciting 
yarn for La very Doune or one of the others. They 
would want to hear what he had been doing, and 
a little exaggeration would do them no harm. 
Besides- 

“Very dusty for motoring.” The young man op¬ 
posite had suddenly spoken. 

Mr. Prince politely agreed. 

“Just had a breakdown near—near your place.” 

“Bad luck,” said Mr. Prince, remembering in time 
where his place was. 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 17 

“Couldn’t help hearing your name, y’know. For¬ 
tunately found a decent garage. In the trade myself.” 
He smiled deprecatingly. “Have to do something 
these days, y’know. Demobbed and all the rest of 
it. So I opened a garage. London. Hire out 
cars; that sort of thing. Any old hour. Pays, 
too.” 

“Ah!” Mr. Prince continued to show a polite 
interest. “So you hire out cars?” 

“Here’s my card. Might come in handy, y’know. 
Never know your luck, do you?” 

Mr. Prince smiled as he took the card. He glanced 
at it, and learnt that Major Gilbert Farnham guaran¬ 
teed a car at any hour of the day or night on the most 
reasonable terms. “Thank you,” said he, as he put 
the card into his pocket. “I often do want a car.” 
Then he turned his head, and looked out of the win¬ 
dow again. He was aware that Major Farnham 
wanted to continue the conversation, but there were 
important matters to decide. Another Idea had pre¬ 
sented itself; a bold Idea. In Bournsea he had made 
no definite plans where he should stay in London. 
The Ashleys might put him up, but they were often 
out of town, and in any case he would feel freer in a 
hotel. But—which? There were, he knew, very 
cheap hotels in the neighbourhood of Bloomsbury, but 
—if he were to go, well, why not?—if he were to go 
to the Ritz, he might possibly meet this beautiful 
Countess, and perhaps be able to tell her of the absurd 
mistake that had been made, and interest her, and in 
some way or other to manage to- 



18 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

The best people would certainy choose the Ritz in 
preference to Bloomsbury. 

‘I’ll go,” said he to himself. “Hang the expense.” 

And so it happened that about four o’clock that 
afternoon a taxicab drew up in Arlington Street and 
deposited Mr. Oliver Prince at the Ritz Hotel. He 
allowed a gorgeous being to take his bags, and walked 
into the hall. An attic, he had decided, would suit 
him, and there was no necessity to feed in the hotel. 
He would stay a few days and trust to luck. Yes, 
here he was in London, at the smartest of London 
hotels, an ex-naval officer with crisp bank-notes in his 
pocket. There was no need to be nervous. He was 
not nervous; not nervous at all. He had come up to 
London to seek- 

“Roddy, what on earth are you doing here?” 

The boy turned. A tall beautifully-dressed woman 
had come up to him, and was staring. Then she uttered 
a little cry. “Oh, I’m—I’m so sorry. I thought . . .” 
She seemed half-amused, half-frightened. “Do ex¬ 
cuse me, but I thought you were my—somebody else.” 

He smiled. “I was taken for Lord Oxney a few 
hours ago,” he said. 

“Taken for Roddy? But-” She stopped and 

turned to look at a dark man who was watching them 
from a seat nearby. “You know,” she said with a 
nervous laugh, “I don’t know who you are. I’m Lady 
Oxney. I—it seems so . . . Who took you for 
Roddy?” she demanded. 

“The stationmaster at Oxney Junction.” Mr. 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 19 

Prince was feeling slightly uncomfortable. The 
attendants were obviously waiting for instructions. 
A man in a frock coat had come out of the reception- 
office, and was hovering uncertainly a yard or two 
away. 

“Oh, but—my dear boy—I mean—are you staying 
in the hotel?” 

“Yes, for a day or two.” 

Again she was staring into his face. “Extraor¬ 
dinary,” she murmured, and then jerked up her head, 
looked at the dark man again, seemed to be in doubt 
what to say or do, and finally laughed out aloud. Mr. 
Prince grinned. He, too, was in doubt as to what he 
should do. Things were happening too quickly even 
for him. Lady Oxney, he thought, certainy did not 
look old enough to be his mother, particularly when 
she was laughing. He admired her grey dress and the 
way she had done her hair. And there she was, the 
Countess of Oxney, staring at him! He would have 
to say something, but—what? 

“You know, I don’t—I don’t know what you must 
think of me, but—they’ll be wanting to take your 
luggage upstairs. Couldn’t you—why, of course 
you could!” She had brushed a hand over her 
hair. “Couldn’t you just wait a minute before you 
settle things? I’ve—I’ve had the most extraordi¬ 
nary idea. Yes, just wait here, will you? Do you 
mind? I’ll explain in a moment. It’s so odd, isn’t 
it?” 

“I suppose it is,” agreed Mr. Prince awkwardly. 
What was going to happen now? 


20 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“But I can’t-” She stared at the frock-coated 

man, and waved him imperiously away. Then she 
ordered the gorgeous attendant to put down the bags. 
“Do please sit down for a moment. I want 
She seemed to become suddenly vague, but her fingers 
were pointing to a chair, and as in a dream Mr. Prince 
sat down. He saw her turn away and walk up to the 
man who had been watching. He knew they were 
talking about him. He thought: 

“It isn’t me. It’s somebody else. I shall wake up.” 

Then he lit a cigarette, and looked about him. 

He had come to London to make money—money 
for a new house and dresses for his mother as splendid 
as the one which this strange Lady Oxney was wear¬ 
ing. “Money,” he muttered to himself, and remem¬ 
bered that he was devilish cunning. An adventure 
had begun. . . . 

Three minutes later the dark man came up and 
offered his hand. “May I introduce myself?” he said 
in a pleasant voice. “My name is Clarence Elton. 
Lady Oxney has asked me to present her apology for 
our mistake. Yes, mine too. We both took you for 
Lord Oxney. The likeness is extraordinary, you 
know. I suppose you’ve never seen him?” 

“No,” replied the boy, wondering whether he liked 
Mr. Elton or not. 

“Well, it’s wonderful. Hair, eyes, nose, mouth— 
oh, everything! The exact image! You can imagine 
how startled we were. It’s like one of those doubles 
you read about in novels. I wouldn’t have believed it 
possible.” 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 21 


Mr. Prince smiled. “It’s funny nobody has ever 
taken me for him before to-day.” 

“But, I suppose—I suppose you’re not often on 
leave ?” 

Mr. Prince stared. 

“You’re in the Navy, aren’t you? Surely!” 

Mr. Prince shook his head as he smiled again. It 
was clever of the fellow to spot his former profession. 
“No, I’ve finished with the Navy. No chance of 
promotion.” 

“Of course not. I see. Er—have another ciga¬ 
rette, won’t you?” He held out a gold case. 

“But—oughtn’t I to be seeing about my room?” 

“Oh, that’s all right. We—it’s all so astonishing, 
running across you like this, I mean—and Lady Oxney 
wanted to know whether you’d have tea with us. You 
can fix things up with the hotel people afterwards. 
We were just going upstairs for tea when you 
arrived.” 

“Thanks very much, but—they may not have a 
room.” 

“Don’t you worry about that,” Mr. Elton assured 
him. “They know me well enough to fix matters 
up all right. Leave your things where they are, and 
come along upstairs. Do you generally stay here 
when you’re in London?” 

Mr. Prince explained that this was his first visit to 
the Ritz. 

“Oh, well, don’t you worry about a room. I’ll see 
to that. By the way, would you tell me your name ?” 

Mr. Prince gave his name. 


22 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“Good. Then we’ll join Lady Oxney, Mr. Prince. 
She wants to ask you all sorts of questions.” 

They went up in a lift. They came to a splendid 
room overlooking the Park, apparently one of a pri¬ 
vate suite. Tea was laid on a little brass table by the 
open window. Mr. Prince was given a cup of delicious 
China tea and bidden to eat a dishful of sugared cakes. 
A successful play was being discussed, but he was 
conscious that they were both staring at him, and be¬ 
came slightly indignant. It was a delightfully unex¬ 
pected adventure, but—why had they invited him up¬ 
stairs? He might be the image of Lord Oxney, 
but- 

“I know exactly what you’re thinking of, Mr. 
Prince.” Lady Oxney abruptly changed the conversa¬ 
tion. “You’re thinking we’re very odd people.” 

“If he is,” remarked Mr. Elton laughing, “I don’t 
wonder at it.” 

“I don’t think I was,” said the boy, and knew that 
he was enjoying himself. Downstairs, perhaps, he 
might have been somewhat nervous, but here—it was 
the greatest possible fun. Just like lunching with the 
Admiral. His luck was undeniably in. To what other 
fellow would this sort of thing have happened? And 
of course they would be staring at him. If a mother 
mistook a fellow for her own son- 

“Oh, but I’m sure you were, and I don’t blame you. 
I suppose it is rather odd to invite a complete stranger 
to tea. It was very nice of you to come. You see, 
I feel as though you were Roddy’s twin, somehow, 
another boy of mine whom I’d forgotten all about. 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 23 

How ridiculous I am! But you know what I mean. 

It is queer; just like a play, in fact. I wonder- 

Well, I suppose you’re almost Roddy’s age?” 

Mr. Prince was minded to agree, and then for some 
reason or other gave his real age. 

“Nineteen?” repeated Mr. Elton, who seemed 
greatly interested. “I should have said twenty-two.” 

“And where are you—I mean, are you in London 
for long?” Lady Oxney was leaning back in her 
chair. 

“Well, I really don’t know. I’ve come up from 
Bournsea to have a look round.” 

“For a holiday?” 

“Not exactly. You see, I haven’t yet decided what 
I’m going to do. For a living,” he added, and 
noticed that Mr. Elton’s stare had intensified. 

“What sort of work did you think of taking up?” 

“Oh, anything that comes along, I suppose.” Mr. 
Prince helped himself to another cake. “At least, as 
long as it brings in money, and doesn’t mean sitting 
at an office-desk all day long.” 

“Something more—exciting?” suggested Mr. Elton. 

The boy nodded. 

“Splendid,” said Lady Oxney. “I should think an 
office-desk would be dreadful after the Navy. You 
want something different. I felt sure you did. No,” 
she added, “I couldn’t imagine you in an office.” 

Mr. Prince’s heart warmed towards her. Obviously 
she was a woman who understood things. “They 
wanted me to go into a bank,” he told her. 

“Ridiculous!” 



24 the TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“So you’ve got to earn your own living?” observed 
Mr. Elton. 

“Rather,” said the boy. “We’ve got no money at 
all.” 

“Too bad, but we’re all in the same box nowadays. 
Lady Oxney was looking out of the window. “I 
never have a penny to call my own.” 

Mr. Prince could not help smiling. How absurd! 
The Oxneys were “rolling.” 

Mr. Elton was lighting a cigarette. “I’m afraid,” 
he said, “you must be rather extravagant, if you come 
to the Ritz.” 

Mr. Prince looked at him. “Well, I thought I might 
as well come here as anywhere. Something’s bound 
to turn up.” 

“How do you know it will?” 

“Why, it’s turned up already!” exclaimed Lady 
Oxney. 

“My meeting you?” 

“Yes, and being taken for Roddy.” 

“I suppose it has. It’s rather a joke, isn’t it?” 

“It might be more than a—joke.” 

The boy turned quickly in his chair to look at Mr. 
Elton. A change had come into the dark man’s voice: 
he was suddenly serious. “In what way, Mr. Elton?” 

There came a tiny pause. Mr. Elton was looking 
at his cigarette. Lady Oxney had assumed her 
vaguest expression. 

“Do you realize that the hotel people will naturally 
take you for Lord Oxney?” 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 25 

“They take me for Lord Oxney? Why should 
they ?” 

“Roddy often comes up for a night or two,” inter¬ 
posed Lady Oxney languidly. 

“And they saw you talking to us, and coming up¬ 
stairs with us.” 

“But surely-” 

“Would you mind very much, Mr. Prince, if you 
were taken for Lord Oxney?” Mr. Elton was look¬ 
ing at him very intently. 

“Would I mind?” Mr. Prince did not know what 
to say. Of course he would not mind in the least. 
It would be the greatest fun. But why had the ques¬ 
tion been put? He could not understand why Mr. 
Elton was looking at him in that way. “No,” he 
admitted, “but why-” 

“There!” said Lady Oxney, and laughed rather 
shrilly. “What did I say? I knew you wouldn’t 
mind. Roddy’s a dear. And people do make mis¬ 
takes. Quite the absurdest mistakes. And that,” she 
continued, speaking quicky and almost at random, as 
it seemed, “and that was my extraordinary idea. 
The one I had downstairs, when I saw you standing 
there by the door. I’m always getting the quaintest 
ideas. Quite suddenly, I mean. You wouldn’t 
believe-” 

Mr. Elton was smiling. “I believe,” he said, “we 
could do you a good turn. Financially.” 

Mr. Prince stared. 

“Yes, but Lady Oxney doesn’t want to be worried 





26 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

with business. Suppose you and I take a stroll in the 
Park?” 

(So they had invited him to tea for a particular 
purpose! He ought to have known so much at once. 
Well, he would have to use all his cunning. They 
were going to make some sort of a proposal. He 
would accept it, if it appealed to him, but if it 
didn’t-) 

He was shaking hands with Lady Oxney, but did 
not hear what she was saying. In the corridor out¬ 
side he lit a cigarette but it seemed to be somebody 
else who was smoking. Once again he was in the lift, 
but this time only with Mr. Elton. The queerest af¬ 
fair was about to happen, although he had not a notion 
what it might turn out to be. But that he was em¬ 
barked on an adventure altogether out of the ordinary 
could not be doubted. 

He felt a little drunk. 

Five minutes later he was walking in Green Park, 
and listening to an astonishing proposal. 

That night Mr. Prince lay in a huge and most com¬ 
fortable bed, and endeavoured to understand what 
had happened. He had begun the day in the tiny 
house in Bournsea. At the junction he had been mis¬ 
taken for Lord Oxney. He had come to the Ritz 
Hotel where the same thing had happened. He had 
met Lady Oxney who was charming, and Mr. Elton 
who was—a little mysterious. He had had tea with 
them. And then in Green Park had come that strange 
proposal. He could not remember exactly how Mr. 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


27 


Elton had led up to the proposal. He could not 
understand how he had come to accept the proposal so 
quickly and without careful thought about the possi¬ 
ble results. And yet the thing had seemed inevitable. 
He had known at once that he would accept. 

In some curious way his dream in the train had come 
nearly true. Everybody was taking him for Lord 
Oxney: would he agree, for a fee, to masquerade as 
the peer so long as he remained at the Ritz ? 

That had been Mr. Elton’s proposal. 

And he had accepted. 

In fact, to all intents and purposes, it was Lord 
Oxney lying so snugly in this huge and most com¬ 
fortable bed. It was Lord Oxney who had dined 
in state, and drunk as much champagne as was good 
for him, and talked perhaps rather more about him¬ 
self than he had intended, and been let into the secret 
that Lady Oxney and Mr. Elton were engaged to be 
married and—in trouble. 

Which was why that proposal had been made. 

They were in trouble, and in some way or other they 
required his assistance. As yet no detailed explana¬ 
tion had been given—“just a family affair,” he had 
been told—but in the morning Mr. Elton was coming 
to see him at an early hour, and then he was to hear 
what Lady Oxney at dinner had described as a very 
remarkable story. 

Already, however, he was fully aware that he 
would have to remain very strictly on guard. Once 
in the King Henry he had been tricked, but that was 
not going too happen again. 


28 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

But ought he to have accepted? 

Very decidedly not. 

Something was wrong, not of course with Lady 
Oxney, but- 

Well, if Mr. Elton attempted- 

Let him! 

This was the sort of curious adventure for which 
he had craved. And he had been promised a fee, 
his expenses and £25 in any case, £100 in the event 
of his active assistance being demanded and given in 
the “family affair/’ 

A hundred pounds for being Lord Oxney! 

He was Lord Oxney. 

“I should have made a very poor bank-clerk,” he 
reflected, and turned over and went to sleep. 




CHAPTER III 


The next morning Mr. Prince ate a huge break¬ 
fast in one of the public rooms, and accepted the 
rank and dignity which was thrust upon him with a 
very good grace. He enjoyed a few minutes’ con¬ 
versation with a gentleman who looked like an am¬ 
bassador but really occupied a subordinate position on 
the hotel staff, and he thought that a lady with sur¬ 
prising red hair smiled graciously at him. He came 
to the conclusion that as a home the Ritz was in every 
way superior to the little house in a side street, and 
decided that when his fortune had been made, he 
would have a suite on the first floor reserved perma¬ 
nently for his own use. Meanwhile it was important 
to remember that he was the young Earl of Oxney 
who had just come of age: a fortunate youth, indeed, 
whom half the world might legitimately envy. No 
money troubles; a beautiful place in the country (near 
to which that Major What-was-his-name had broken 
down on the previous day); and, on certain occasions, 
a coronet and robes of scarlet and ermine in which 
to look mightily important. It was all exceedingly 
pleasant, and as he smoked a cigarette his only regret 
concerned those old messmates of his. He could 
hardly hope to be taken for Lord Oxney by them: 
but, if they chanced to come to the Ritz, he was hanged 
if he wouldn’t pretend not to know them. “I’m 
29 


3 o THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

afraid you’ve made a mistake,” he would say, slightly 
disguising his voice. “My name is Oxney. Whom 
do you take me for?” Or something of that kind. 
The trouble was that Ashley would be sure to burst 
into laughter, in which case he himself would never 
be able to keep a straight face. On the other hand, 
if anyone were to come in, he could retire to his own 
room upstairs. 

(But he was not really his own master. He was 
in process of earning a fee, and in a very short while 
Mr. Elton would be explaining how that fee might 
be considerably raised.) 

He sat in the lounge, and waited. . . . 

“Hullo, my dear Oxney, so there you are.” Mr. 
Elton, very beautifully dressed, had come up and was 
talking in loud hearty tones. “Sleep well? But of 
course you did. And your mother all right? Good. 
Then I suggest we take a stroll in Hyde Park.” 

Mr. Prince agreed, and they walked out into 
Piccadilly. 

“Just the right kind of morning to sit in the Park,” 
said Mr. Elton, as they turned in by Hyde Park 
Corner. He seemed in the best of good tempers. 
“What about over there by the statue? It looks de¬ 
lightfully shady.” 

So they sat near to Achilles, and in a little while 
Mr. Prince was listening with the greatest attention 
to a remarkable story. He had ceased temporarily to 
be Lord Oxney, and become the young man from 
Bournsea who desired, if possible, to be in a position 
to charge that higher fee. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 31 

Mr. Elton was at great pains to impress him, and 
he was undoubtedly impressed. Mr. Elton described 
a most pitiful family squabble, and appealed to Mr. 
Prince’s sense of chivalry and love of fair play. One 
or two points, it is true, seemed to the boy to remain 
obscure, but how could he hope after so short if ad¬ 
venturous a career, to understand the niceties of high 
finance ? 

It was all very sad. The Countess of Oxney, it 
seemed, had long been the victim of a deplorable 
conspiracy on the part of her late husband’s family. 
They had been working against her from the first. 
They had opposed her marriage. They had poisoned 
the mind of her husband. They had hinted and lied, 
and had finally succeeded in putting even her own son 
against her. Mr. Prince gathered that on his death¬ 
bed the late Lord Oxney had been forced by his three 
brothers to alter his will, with the result that his 
widow had been left with no more than a paltry three 
hundred a year. 

“And I expect you can understand what that 
means.” 

Mr. Prince thought he could. 

“It meant, of course, that she was placed in an 
entirely impossible position. She has a microscopic 
income of her own, but even with that, it was hope¬ 
less.” Mr. Elton was scraping the turf with his stick. 
“Utterly hopeless,” he repeated. 

“But her son-” 

“I’m coming to him. I’ve told you already that 
his uncles had put him against her. Well, nothing 



32 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

she could say in her own defence was of any avail. 
It was made quite clear to her that her presence at 
Oxney would no longer be tolerated.” 

“But surely if-” 

“I know what you are asking yourself. Why did 
the family adopt such an attitude, and what precisely 
were their accusations? My dear boy, it was noth¬ 
ing but envy, jealousy, narrow-mindedness. As 
you’ve probably seen for yourself, Lady Oxney is a 
joyous being in love with life. She has always wanted 
to surround herself with interesting people, but with 
people, mind you, whom the Oxneys could never under¬ 
stand. They’re hidebound; they belong to the 
eighteen-fifties. Over and over again her actions have 
been misinterpreted merely because—oh, well, I want 
to tell you a plain story. If I talk about the Oxneys, 
I shall lose my temper. What I want to tell you is 
this. After her husband’s death, Lady Oxney was 
hounded from her home, and forced to manage as 
best she could on a few hundreds a year. But she 
was popular. She had scores of friends. Her beauty 
was famous. After a period of mourning, she was 
invited out once again—not only by private friends, 
but also by public bodies who wanted her name for 
this or that purpose. Opening bazaars, presenting 
prizes, that sort of thing.” 

Mr. Prince nodded. 

“Well, you can’t do that on a few hundreds a 
year, and she was forced to borrow.” Mr. Elton 
looked gloomily at his stick. “Unfortunately she 
borrowed from the worst sort of man. You see, at 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 33 

that time we were not engaged. I hadn’t the right 
to—to offer my advice and assistance. It was only 
after her affairs had got into the most dreadful mess 
that she came to me. And then—the irony of it!” 
He looked dolefully at Mr. Prince. “I don’t want 
to worry you with my private concerns, but if she had 
only come to me a few months before, there would 
have been no difficulty at all. But as luck would have 
it, I had just lost my own little fortune, or at any 
rate the greater part of it, in one of those commercial 
speculations which, while sound in themselves, natu¬ 
rally fail if their promoter turns out to be a scoundrel. 
It was a nasty knock, I can tell you. I had to look 
out for a job, a pretty good job, too, if we were to 
marry. I must come into a goodish amount when an 
uncle of mine dies, but he’s a hale old gentleman, and 
—well, to cut a long story short, I found a job, in 
America, and it is to allow me to take up that job 
that Blanche—Lady Oxney—has agreed to live in 
New York. But—just listen to what has happened! 
The New York position is highly paid, and once in 
receipt of my salary, there will be no trouble what¬ 
ever in paying off all my wife’s debts. But until 
that salary is forthcoming, there is no money for her. 
You can’t go and live in a strange country without— 
oh, numberless things. And of course we are forced 
to borrow again. It is against our better judgment, 
but there is no alternative. We are forced to bor¬ 
row, and what does Jacobs say?” 

Mr. Prince was trying to resolve the muddle that 
had arisen in his mind. 


34 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

‘‘Jacobs, if you please, refuses to advance another 
penny unless I can give proofs of my uncle’s inten¬ 
tions, which of course I can’t”—Mr. Elton looked 
sharply into the boy’s face—“or unless the present 
Lord Oxney agrees to stand security for his mother, 
which as I need hardly tell you, Oxney, who is a weak 
and spiritless fellow entirely in the hands of his uncles, 
refuses to do.” 

“Jacobs being a moneylender?” 

“Jacobs being an old thief,” said Mr. Elton sav¬ 
agely, “who charges unheard-of rates of interest.” 

There came a pause. 

“And in what way,” asked Mr. Prince, “are you 
thinking I could be of assistance ?” 

Mr. Elton looked at him for a few moments before 
speaking. “I don’t want you to misunderstand me,” 
said he. “I don’t want you to think I’m asking you 
to do anything—wrong. This signature for which 
Jacobs is asking is the merest formality. At the end 
of the year my own solicitor will be instructed to pay 
Jacobs every penny that is owing to him. But if 
Lady Oxney’s life is to be made at all bearable, and if 
we are to be married, the money must be obtained at 
once.” 

“I see. But does your uncle know you are going 
to be married ?” 

“Nobody knows except yourself.” 

“But wouldn’t he help if he knew?” 

“My dear boy,” replied Mr. Elton, “my uncle is 
old Lord Hailsham who believes all the lies the Oxneys 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

have spread. No words of mine would ever convince 

him that Blanche- No, no, it’s useless. We have 

discussed every possibility, but my uncle must be ruled 
out. There is nothing to do but to get Roddy’s 
signature. Of course if he were to follow his own 
inclination, he would sign at once. But he’s a coward, 
and so-” 

The blood in Mr. Prince’s body seemed to be 
bubbling. He hardly dared to look at Mr. Elton. 
“Yes?” said he, and hoped that he was not showing 
his excitement. 

“If you—if you were to sign in his place-” 

Mr. Prince thought it advisable to light a cigarette. 
The moment had undoubtedly arrived when he would 
have to be more devilish cunning than ever before. 
The seventy-five extra pounds seemed rapidly to be 
disappearing from view, and even the twenty-five did 
not appear to be certain. Yet he was not going to 
give them up without a struggle. “But wouldn’t that 
be—forgery?” he asked. 

To his surprise Mr. Elton burst into hearty laugh¬ 
ter. “Forgery, my dear boy? No, no. It is no 
more than a formality, as I told you. It would mean 
nothing at all. If you like, I will take you to my 
solicitor who will tell you about the money that is 
coming to me in America. Oxney himself need know 
nothing about the transaction at all. That, you see, 
is the whole point. I only want time to pay, and that 

is the one means- And put yourself in Roddy’s 

place. Wouldn’t you want to help your own mother?” 






36 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“I should,” said Mr. Prince. “And as far as Lady 
Oxney is concerned, I should like to help her, but 
would it be, well, straight?” 

A stern look came into Mr. Elton’s face. “No,” 
he replied, “strictly, legally speaking, it would not. 
I admit it. But when you are fighting slander and 
lies, you must use any weapons you can. Morally 
speaking-” 

“And this, I suppose, was the real reason why you 
suggested I should pretend to be Lord Oxney ?” 

Mr. Elton nodded. “Don’t look on me as a scoun¬ 
drel. I’m not really so bad as I’m willing to admit 
I may seem. I haven’t told you a quarter of the in¬ 
sults to which Lady Oxney has been subjected. Your 
blood would boil. You would say: ‘Anything to stop 
that sort of foul thing.’ I don’t set up to be a saint, 
but—and then your arrival there in the hotel! It 
seemed providential. We had just been wondering 
how we could get Roddy up to town, and there— 
apparently—he was! You see-” 

Mr. Prince was exhaling smoke. “And I,” he in¬ 
terrupted, “should get £100?” 

“Guineas,” declared Mr. Elton, hiding his eagerness. 

There came a long pause. 

“But my handwriting,” began Mr. Prince at last. 

“A very minor point, my dear fellow. And Jacobs 
has only seen Roddy once for a moment. Now you 
and I are men of the world. I am making an unusual 
request, but the whole matter is unusual. You can’t 
follow the ordinary conventions in a case of this kind. 
And don’t forget that I wouldn’t have asked you to 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 37 

help us, if I thought there was the slightest chance 
of anybody being harmed. It isn’t as if Oxney would 
really be called on to pay. I shall pay myself. It’s 
just the signature. Oxney. Your signature! Yes, 
do you know, even now there are moments when I 
can hardly believe I’m not talking to Roddy Oxney 
himself. It’s luck—a tiny piece of good luck after a 

run of the most dreadful- Prince,” he finished 

abruptly, “will you help us?” 

Luck? The word brought old memories to Mr. 
Prince’s mind. Nothing but luck had brought him to 
the Ritz and introduced him to Lady Oxney and her 
fiance. They were asking him to do something in 
which the risk might be small and the reward great, 
but of which no honest man would approve. And 
yet, were he definitely to refuse, the adventure would 
come to an abrupt end, and his luck would have failed. 
Was there then no way out of the difficulty? And— 
would it be forgery? Would it be the sort of forgery 
for which they arrested you, and took you to Bow 
Street, and put your photograph in the papers ? 
Moreover, if he were to sign, and in the future the 
real Lord Oxney were called on to pay, wouldn’t it 
serve him right? To leave your own mother in the 
lurch- 

“And I wouldn’t ask you,” Mr. Elton was saying, 
“if I thought you were running the slightest risk 
yourself. But you won’t be. To all intents and pur¬ 
poses you are Roddy Oxney.” 

(Exactly what Mr. Prince had been telling him¬ 
self on the previous evening!) 




38 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

There came another little pause, and then the boy 
shook his head. He was sorry, but- 

“Well, think it over,” continued the other easily. 
“We needn’t settle until to-night. Let us talk after 
dinner. We shall be four, by the way. Little Doris 
Esmonde is coming, a young cousin of mine. Such 
a jolly girl. I think you will like her.” 

“And shall I be Lord Oxney to her?” 

“Why, of course!” laughed Mr. Elton getting up. 
“In any case we stick to our bargain. 

Mr. Prince smiled. 

He spent the rest of the morning choosing ties in 
the Burlington Arcade. 

Dinner that evening was a great success. Lady 
Oxney wore a wonderful gown. Mr. Prince thought 
that Doris Esmonde was the prettiest girl he had 
ever seen in his life. She had the loveliest brown 
hair, and a tiny nose, and her lips were just the sort 
of lips that he considered a really beautiful girl ought 
to possess. And she was such good fun. They 
became friends before the salmon was finished. Once 
or twice, it is true, he felt uneasy at the deception 
he was playing, but decided that when they had be¬ 
come great friends, he would be able to tell her his 
real name. She lived in Chelsea, and she loved the 
Navy. Mr. Prince curbed his desire to speak of the 
Navy from within—Lord Oxney, he knew, had been 
in a cavalry regiment—but he could not resist describ¬ 
ing the Duke of Kirkaldy’s yacht in considerable detail. 

After dinner he sat with Miss Esmonde in a corner 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 39 

of the lounge. They found much in common. Mr. 
Prince forgot all about the curious adventure upon 
which he had embarked. He forgot that Mr. Elton 
was waiting for an answer. He even forgot at mo¬ 
ments that he was supposed to be a rich peer. 

“I love dining here/’ said Miss Esmonde, “and, do 
you know, I don’t think my father wanted me to 
come.” 

“Why ever not?” 

“Oh, I suppose he thinks I go out too much, and 
then he’s old-fashioned. And sometimes,” she added, 
“I don’t think he likes Cousin Clarence very much. 
Silly of him, of course, because Cousin Clarence is 
so amusing. And he dances beautifully. But you 
know what old people are.” 

“Is your father very old?” 

“N-no, and he’s the biggest dear in the world. But 
we do have rows. I suppose he enjoys them.” 

“I—I’d love to meet him,” declared Mr. Prince. 

“Well, of course you can.” Miss Esmonde was 
obviously enjoying herself. She had been told that 
he was unduly reserved and surprisingly cold towards 
her own sex. But he wasn’t cold at all—just the 
reverse, in fact—and it only showed you how difficult 
it was to believe people when they were talking about 
other people you didn’t know. Instinctively she knew 
that this boy and she were going to become great 
friends. “You’d better ring up,” she told him, “and 
invite yourself to dinner one night.” 

“Thanks most awfully. I say, you know, I’m jolly 
glad we’ve met.” 


4 o THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

Miss Esmonde was surreptitiously admiring the 
cut of his evening clothes. She hoped that he liked 
her own dress. Really he was the handsomest boy 
she had ever seen. And her father had told her that 
he owned the most beautiful house in the south of 
England. Perhaps she had expected to find him a 
trifle conceited. But he wasn’t—not a bit. And 
Lady Oxney was delightful. “Are you really?” she 
asked. “But I expect you meet hundreds of girls.” 

“No, I don’t,” he assured her. “I don’t particu¬ 
larly want to.” 

“I expect you say the same thing to all of them.” 

He stared, and then smiled. “We could have the 
rippingest times together,” he said. 

“But you’re never in London.” 

“Er, no, I haven’t been here much, but-” 

Lady Oxney was beckoning to them. 

“I think your mother is the most beautiful person 
in the world,” said Miss Esmonde as they went up¬ 
stairs. “I—I think I’d want to do anything for her.” 

Mr. Prince seemed suddenly nervous. He had been 
unexpectedly reminded of the real state of affairs. 
“Would you?” 

“Yes, I would.” 

“Guineas, not pounds,” thought Mr. Prince, and 
came to a decision. 



CHAPTER IV 


He came to his decision on a sudden, but before 
dinner he had spent a considerable time alone in his 
room, endeavouring to find some way at once of help¬ 
ing Lady Oxney who had been extraordinarily under¬ 
standing and asked all sorts of questions about 
the Navy, and of stifling his own conscience. You 
couldn’t get away from the fact that to write Oxney’s 
name on a document would not be straight. Jacobs 
himself might be the worst sort of swindler, and Ox¬ 
ney, in spite of his war service, might be the most 

cowardly noodle, but- But if he, Prince, were a 

paid servant, as of course he would be, he would just 
be carrying out instructions. Obeying orders. His 
employer required a name to be written, and was will¬ 
ing to pay- 

No, that line of argument was useless. He would 
have to think of some other means of getting over 
the difficulty. 

And then he had remembered those few words 
which Lady Oxney had whispered into his ear after 
luncheon. 

“Sometimes the Law is utterly bad. You’d never 
believe how cruelly it has treated me. If I were a 
man-” 

He had understood what she meant. If Oxney had 
41 





THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


42 

had a spark of manhood in him, he would never have 
allowed her to be slandered. She was just the sort 
of woman to be misunderstood. The Law! It meant 
nothing at all. It was merely a lot of rules made by 
old gentlemen to make things easy for themselves— 
just a word. The signing of Jacob’s papers would 
be the merest formality—an exciting point in his 
adventure, a- 

A lark! 

What undergraduates called a rag. 

And it would serve old Jacobs right for charging 
such interest. 

Forgery? 

Ridiculous. If you didn’t take risks, you would 
never get far. Besides, where a woman’s honour was 
concerned, the usual code did not apply. That was 
what Mr. Elton had been trying to say. Chivalry 
might make big demands, but they could not be 
ignored. 

No, but- 

He had smoked many cigarettes, and tried to devise 
alternative schemes for helping Lady Oxney, and 
asked himself a great number of questions, and even 
rehearsed his behaivour at Jacobs’s office; but it was 
only in the lounge that evening with Miss Esmonde 
by his side that he came to his final decision. 

He would have to be very bold, and very careful; 
but his mother wanted money. There were two 
women to help. 

Well, he would help them. 

And be devilish cunning again. 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 43 

All the papers, it seemed, would be ready at Mr. 
Jacobs’s office for Mr. Prince’s signature. He had 
only to take a cab to Coventry Street at eleven o’clock 
the next morning, explain that he had come up to 
London “to see his mother at the Ritz,” sign the 
papers, and take his leave. The £105 would be paid 
him in bank-notes the same day. 

Mr. Prince agreed that when you came to look at 
it broadly, the whole matter was quite simple. Un¬ 
usual, of course, and liable to be misunderstood, but 
—simple. He saw no reason why the little plan 
should fail, and proposed to return to the Ritz in time 
for luncheon. 

Miss Esmonde was coming to luncheon. 

Mr. Elton could not thank him enough. Lady 
Oxney showed her gratitude by a look and a pressure 
of the hand. 

But he understood that the utmost secrecy was 
essential ? 

Mr. Prince quite understood. 

And perhaps it would be as well if—Lord Oxney 
were to leave the Ritz Hotel soon after luncheon? 

Mr. Prince saw the wisdom of such a proposal, and 
agreed to catch the four-thirty express to Bournsea. 

He retired to his room five minutes after Miss 
Esmonde’s departure. . . . 

And the next day affairs went very well. Mr. 
Jacobs was apparently delighted to see the young 
Earl of Oxney, of whose coming he had been ac¬ 
quainted by telephone. His large form seemed to 
be oozing out a stream of complimentary puffs and 


44 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

wheezes. He offered the youngster a large cigar, and 
explained that it was one of a brand which very few 
men in England smoked. Expensive, of course, but 
well worth the money. He spoke of the state of the 
crops, and only stopped talking when his visitor 
suggested that his time was short and there were 
papers ready to be signed. 

The papers were produced, and Mr. Jacobs glanced 
carelessly at the young man’s signature. He expressed 
a hope that he might be of service again on some future 
occasion, and after promising that the money should 
be paid into her ladyship’s account the same day, said 
good-bye. 

And luncheon at the Ritz that day was as success¬ 
ful as the dinner of the previous evening. Lady Ox- 
ney was radiant. Mr. Elton was very amusing. Mr. 
Prince thought that Miss Doris looked lovelier than 
ever in the daylight. He was sorry that he was obliged 
to go home before tea, but hoped to see her very soon 
again. No, he wouldn’t be away from London for 
long, but—it was one of those wretched little business 
affairs which were constantly worrying a fellow. He 
obtained her address, and promised to write. 

‘Til write to-morrow,” he whispered. 

At three o’clock he received twenty-one new bank¬ 
notes. 

At four o’clock he was driven to Waterloo Station, 
and travelled home first-class. 

One hundred guineas earned in three days ! 

In the train he took pleasure in working out the 
yearly income which a man would receive at this rate. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 45 

Mathematics had never been his strong point, but there 
seemed no reason to doubt that it would mean con¬ 
siderably more than ten thousand pounds a year. Not 
a small income at all. In fact, quite a decently large 
income, and one which would definitely place him 
amongst the finanical magnates. 

If, that was to say, it continued. 

Well, it was going to continue. 

Somehow. 

He chuckled. The bank-people had suggested a 
salary of two pounds a week. Not even guineas; just 
two miserable pounds! Which would have meant a 
yearly income about equal to what he had succeeded 
in earning in three days. 

And how? Merely by being devilish cunning! 

Lord, how Ashley and the others would laugh when 
he told them the yarn! And Mr. Waynflete! At 
least- 

A slight frown appeared on his forehead. He 
would have to be careful what he told Mr. Waynflete. 
The old boy might not approve of all he had done. 
And yet, looking at it broadly, what objection could 
there be? 

Masquerading as somebody else? But—why not? 

The frown deepened. He would just have some 
fun with the old boy, but what of Miss Doris 
Esmonde? He had promised to write, and he was 
going to write. In fact his fingers were itching to 
write now. There was so much that he wanted to 
say. Meeting Miss Doris had been easily the most 
exciting part of the adventure. But—he was begin- 



46 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

ning to see that there might be trouble over the com¬ 
position of that letter. At the Ritz the masquerade 
had seemed easy and natural, but now—well, how on 
earth could you tell a girl that you weren’t the fellow 
she thought you? On a sudden the task seemed so 
frightfully difficult as to be almost impossible. She 
might so easily feel that he had made a fool of her. On 
the other hand he could swear her to secrecy, and she 
might enjoy that part of the affair. Girls liked to be 
told secrets. Nevertheless that letter would probably 
take the deuce of a time, just when he ought to be 
thinking how best to make that large income continue. 

Well, but he was his own master again, and could 
spend his time as he chose. A few days’ holiday. 

. . . All financial magnates were forced by their 
doctors to banish all thoughts of work every few 
months. And at home they could hardly expect him 
to go into the bank now. On the other hand he was 
not overworked, and he ought to be returning to Lon¬ 
don fairly soon. . . . 

Yes, he would probably return some time next 
week, after Mr. Elton and Lady Oxney had sailed. 

He did not particularly wish to see Mr. Elton again. 

Though of course he would thank him formally 
for the money. 

He would write to the man after he had composed 
a letter to Miss Doris. And then- 

He was a little disappointed when the train ran 
through Oxney Junction without stopping. It would 
have been pleasant to be Oxney again for a few 
minutes. . . . 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 47 

“But, my dear boy, I can’t understand. You 
seem- It’s beyond me.” 

Mr. Prince was sitting back in Mr. Waynflete’s 
chair blowing smoke-rings. His mother, astonished 
and delighted at his speedy return, had gone out to 
buy food. 

“What’s beyond you?” he asked. He was very 
pleased with himself now, and not at all eager to 
finish his account of the adventure. “I told you 
I’d get money, and so I have, in less than three 
days.” 

“Yes, yes, yes, but don’t you see, there are . . . 
Good God, boy, don’t you realize what you’ve done?” 

Mr. Prince looked up very innocently indeed. “I’ve 
made a hundred guineas,” he said, “and spent prac¬ 
tically nothing at all.” 

“Yes, but at the cost of your honour.” Mr. Wayn- 
flete looked greatly distressed. 

“Honour?” repeated Mr. Prince. “But why 
shouldn’t I pretend to be Lord Oxney if I want?” 

The old gentleman put out his hands. “That isn’t 

the point at all. Oh, if only I had known- I 

could have told you the truth about that wretched 
woman. But it never entered my head that-” 

“Wretched woman!” 

“A hopeless spendthrift. Not a wicked woman, but 
utterly casual and selfish. She drove her husband 

to drink, and he was the j oiliest- Oh, and this 

man Elton- Of course I can see the whole thing. 

They’ve made a pawn of you. I dare say she cried 
and made a dreadful scene-” 








48 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“Oh no, she didn’t, Mr. Waynflete.” 

“Well, she would have done, if you’d given her 
half a chance. I know my lady well enough. In 
any case between them they’ve played a nice sort of 
game. Oliver Prince a forger!” 

Mr. Prince was frowning in his comical way. 
“But, don’t you see, that was only a formality.” 

“Formality be damned!” cried Mr. Waynflete 
angrily. “They’ve fooled you. And I blame my¬ 
self for allowing you to go. Yes, I do. I blame 
myself bitterly. A boy of your age. . . . Oh, Oliver, 
couldn’t you see?” 

“I think I did see,” replied the boy, and looked at 
his boots, “but I wanted to help, and when a woman’s 
in trouble, you’ve got to do something.” 

The old gentleman was walking about the room. 
Suddenly he stopped, and stared at the boy. “You 
realize you can be sent to prison?” 

“Prison?” said Mr. Prince, “but why?” 

“A forger,” announced Mr. Waynflete gloomily, 
“can be given seven years.” 

“But I keep on telling you it wasn’t forgery. That 
old Jacobs will get his money all right and I-” 

“Oliver, I thought you were a sahib.” 

“I’m under age,” retorted Mr. Prince facetiously, 
“and I’m devilish cunning. And you must agree it 
was an awful rag. It was only when I saw what a 
good rag it would be that I went through with the 
business. And a paying one, too. You don’t often 
get a hundred guineas-” 

“Oh, can’t you be serious for a minute? I don’t 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 49 

know what we can ever tell your mother. You have 
distressed me more than I can say. A forger!” 

“But how can a man forge his own name?” 

“You signed ‘Oxney,’ didn’t you?” 

“Of course I didn’t, Mr. Waynflete.” 

“Eh, what’s that? You didn’t? But you told me 
you did.” 

Mr. Prince was smiling. The joiliest moment, he 
saw, had now arrived, and he settled himself more 
comfortably in his chair. “Oh no,” said he, “I 
didn’t tell you I did. I told you the papers were 
signed. So they were; they were signed by Lord 
Oxney, you see.” 

“Signed by- You say-” 

“Oh, it was all rather cunning, but then you do 
become cunning if you’ve been in the Navy. You 
see, I rang up Major Farnham—you remember, the 
man I met going up in the train—for a car, and got 
one at once, though it was nearly midnight. Elton 
had gone home of course, so he didn’t know. And 
the Major came out himself, and drove me to Oxney. 
He’s a jolly good sport, and I’m going to see him 
again when I go back to London. In fact I dare say 
he’d be able to put me on to a good thing. He’s that 
sort of a fellow. Of course I had to tell him the 
truth, and he was most frightfully struck. 

“Well, there was no traffic, you see, and we 
simply tore through the country. Never had such a 
run in my life. Then, when we did get to the place, 
we had to bang on the door for ten minutes before 
somebody came, and there was an awful fuss, and 




50 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

they said I couldn’t possibly see Lord Oxney, and 
I said I wouldn’t go away until I did, and they 
threatened to send for the police, and the Major of¬ 
fered to get the police for them, and—oh, there was 
a fair old scrap. But I got my way, and Oxney came 
down, and you can’t imagine how funny it was there 
in that huge hall, talking to a fellow exactly like your¬ 
self and dressed in a flaring red dressing-gown. We 
couldn’t help laughing, you know. And then I knew 
I should like him. Of course he couldn’t make out 
who I was or what I wanted, but I got him into a 
corner, and told him the whole story more or less. 

I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I told him 
he ought to be ashamed of himself, preventing his 
mother from going to America with the man she was 
going to marry. Oh yes, Mr. Waynflete, I spoke to 
him like a father, and told him that Elton had said 
he was afraid of his uncles and all the rest of it. 
You can imagine what he felt. I think he was so 

surprised at what I had done- Well, I was rather 

surprised myself, you know. I don’t think I could do 
it again, but that’s the best part of an adventure— 
a real adventure, I mean: you seem to do things with¬ 
out knowing how! you’re going to do them. 

“And with Oxney, you see, I didn’t really know 
what I wanted to say, but I told him I had a chance 
of earning a good deal of money, and I said it would 
probably be cheaper for him in the long run to sign 
now. Much cheaper, I said, to have Mr. Elton in 
America. And then he laughed again, and—oh, we 
understood one another well enough. I was nearly 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 51 

calling him Roddy to his face! He told me all about 
his mother, but I’d guessed all that before. You do 
guess these things if you’ve been in the Navy.” He 
laughed quietly to himself. “Yes, well, and then we 
fetched the Major in, and had a sort of meal, and 
Oxney dressed and came back to London with us, and 
we went to a Turkish bath, and got cleaned up. He 
had breakfast at Brown’s Hotel, and went on to 
Jacobs, and then the Major took him home. And he 
actually paid for the car both ways! And I’m going 
to stay with him. Partridges and all the rest of it. 
And I met a girl. It’s just luck. I’m one of the-” 

He stopped. 

It had been the greatest possible fun, teasing the 
old boy in this way, but the adventure, he had remem¬ 
bered, was by no means at an end. It could not end 
until he had made things right with Miss Doris. To 
be devilish cunning when you were dealing with people 
like Elton was comparatively easy, but with girls- 

Mr. Waynflete was still staring at him. “Well, 
of all-” 

Mr. Prince had started to hum a little tune. “I 
think I’ll get something to eat,” he said, “and then 
I’ve got some letters to write. I shall probably be 
here a few days, you know.” 

He smiled, and walked out of the room. 

And Mr. Waynflete sat still in his chair, and tried 
very hard not to think of the days when he, too, had 
stood in the old Hall at Oxney Towers. . . . 





CHAPTER V 


Mr. Prince was right. Although he was not des¬ 
tined to hear much more of Mr. Elton and Lady 
Oxney, the adventure was by no means at an end. 

Moreover, if it had begun remarkably well, during 
the next week it showed every sign of going remark¬ 
ably wrong. It continued in so dolefully negative 
a way that Mr. Prince could take little or no pleasure 
even in so important an affair as the opening of an 
account in his name at the bank round the corner. 
True, he was temporarily cheered to receive a letter 
from Lord Oxney, repeating the verbal invitation to 
shoot birds later on in the year, and incidentally an¬ 
nouncing that he had had a somewhat curious inter¬ 
view with his mother and future stepfather which, 
however, had “ended in a satisfactory manner to all 
parties/’ but—all the while Mr. Prince remained in 
a quite unusual state of depression. 

His mother noticed it, and fretted. Mr. Waynflete 
noticed it, and wondered whether he had been told 
the whole truth. Oliver was a strange sort of boy, 
he was beginning to see. Apparently took a sort of 
perverted pleasure in being wrongfully accused of 
forgery. But—no fool. Undoubtedly had his wits 
about him, and was the sort of youngster who might 
52 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 53 

make a big success of his life. Then why this gloomy 
demeanour ? 

“He ought to have a regular job,” the old gentle¬ 
man told himself. “I shall have to find him a job. 
This kind of affair is all very well, but it mustn’t con¬ 
tinue. I shall speak very seriously to him.” 

But he did not speak very seriously to him. In¬ 
stead, he waited to see what would happen. 

Nothing happened, except that the boy’s depression 
grew more marked. 

For this state of affairs Miss Doris Esmonde was 
responsible, a fact all the more curious inasmuch as 
never before in the whole course of his existence had 
a girl managed to cause Mr. Oliver Prince any worry 
at all. He had met all sorts of girls, and liked them. 
They had been jolly good fun. You danced with 
them, and gave them chocolates, and took them out, 
and—sometimes you kissed them. Mabel Ashley, for 
instance. . . . He had kissed her on three separate 
occasions. And there was that topping Anstruther 
girl whom he had met at Mr. Carstairs’s house: he 
had been awfully keen—for a time. But even if there 
were quarrels or misunderstandings, you didn’t sit in 
a chair, and stare at the carpet, and feel as though you 
were going to have indigestion. 

Yet just because he had thought it right to tell Miss 
Doris the truth- 

Had it been the wrong sort of letter? 

Each morning, when no reply came, he became more 
fully convinced that it had. Yet what other kind of 
letter could he have written ? He had simply told her 



54 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

the truth, and gone on to explain how much he had 
enjoyed being with her, and how greatly he was look¬ 
ing forward to seeing her again, and—well, one or 
two of those things you naturally wanted to say to 
a girl with whom you had palled up. 

Perhaps he had been unwise to call her his Dear 
Doris, but “Dear Miss Esmonde” would have looked 
so stupid and stiff. As it was, any girl ought to have 
enjoyed receiving his letter. It was the jolliest sort 
of letter, which contained a most thrilling demand for 
the greatest secrecy, and had taken him a whole morn¬ 
ing to compose. 

Eight whole pages, in fact! 

Yet she had simply ignored it. Not a line from 
Chelsea or anywhere else. 

Moreover, there was not the slightest chance of his 
having made a mistake in the address. He had gone 
to the post office, and consulted a London Telephone 
Directory. 

And here he was, tied down at home, a man with a 
considerable banking account of his own, eager to go 
back to London to earn other (and possibly larger) 
fees by his cunning, and yet unable to move very far 
from the house in case a letter should come. 

It was lamentable. 

Worse, it was childishly silly. If he wanted to 
hear from the girl, and she didn’t write, why wasn’t 
he rushing up to London to see her himself? She 
had asked him to call, hadn’t she? Of course she 
had. Then why didn’t he go? 

There seemed no reason at all. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


55 


He just didn’t go. 

And then at a moment when he was deciding that 
fellows who put an end to their own misery need not 
necessarily be insane, a letter arrived—and made 
matters worse. 

The rottenest letter. 

A single sheet of large writing, addressed to Dear 
Mr. Prince! 

The boy took it with him on to the quay, and did 
his valiant best to read into its few sentences rather 
more than was there. The letter, in point of fact, 
merely informed him that Miss Esmonde had re¬ 
ceived his letter and been considerably surprised. It 
declared her intention of attending several dances in 
the near future, and expressed a hope that the weather 
at Bournsea was fine. 

Mr. Prince sat on the edge of the quay, and frowned 
down at the dirty grey waters. Just then the world 
seemed a dismal place. The acquisition of large sums 
of money seemed unnecessary if not actually objec¬ 
tionable. Adventures in London were simply dull, 
however cunning you might choose to be, unless, per¬ 
chance, you really did commit forgery or murder or 
—suicide. 

“Pm through with it all,” he growled to himself, 
and almost decided to go into the bank round the 
corner, and add up figures for the rest of his life. 

At that very moment, however, a small dinghy put 
off from a ketch that was lying at anchor in the har¬ 
bour, and came towards him. He watched two sailors 
fasten their boat to the quay and idly examined their 


56 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

kit. The magic initials R.Y.S. crossed their jerseys, 
but, much more important, their caps bore the legend 
“Best o’ Luck.” 

But of course! He was one of the lucky ones him¬ 
self! They had told him so hundreds of times. 
Things always went right for him. And quite sud¬ 
denly he realized the wholly satisfactory fact that she 
had replied to his letter. She needn’t have acknowl¬ 
edged those eight pages at all! Yet she had written, 
and if her letter had been cold, well—it must have 
been a pretty big shock to learn that he wasn’t Lord 
Oxney at all. Of course! In a sense, in a conven¬ 
tional sense, they were still strangers. Naturally they 
would have to begin at the beginning again. 

He rose up in considerable excitement, and rushed 
back to the house. 

A second letter was despatched that day to Dear 
Miss Esmonde. It was posted in time to catch the 
London post, which meant to say that she would re¬ 
ceive it next morning at breakfast. A reply could 
reach him the same evening, if she were to write off at 
once, but it would be wiser to wait for the morning 
after, before allowing himself to be worried. 

He waited in patience for two days, and was re¬ 
warded by receiving a second letter distinctly more 
cordial than the first. It was cordial enough to make 
the future seem considerably less black. In fact he 
was able to busy himself once again with mathematical 
calculations about capital and investments. Yet it 
was not wholly satisfactory. It was not the letter 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 57 

which Mr. Prince told himself he really deserved. It 
was not a letter to send him at once up to London. 

He walked on to the hills behind Bournsea, and 
thought very hard, and decided to try the effect of a 
third letter. 

Four days later he was thrilled at breakfast to read 
an invitation to Dear Oliver to call whenever he hap¬ 
pened to be in the neighbourhood of Chelsea. 

He looked up at his mother, and endeavoured to 
hide his excitement. 

“Afraid I shall have to go up to London again,” 
he remarked, and managed to produce a very credit¬ 
able frown. “I’d better catch the ten-thirty this 
morning.” 

“Yes, dear?” Mrs. Prince was not wholly de¬ 
ceived, although she had no idea that such a person 
as Miss Doris Esmonde existed. “Don’t forget to 
take your thick overcoat this time.” 

“More adventures?” Mr. Waynflete looked up from 
his paper. 

“Er—no. I’ve still got to attend to one or two 
matters which—er, belong to the old one.” 

But, as it happened, an entirely new and most un¬ 
expected adventure was to superimpose itself on the 
old one and to add not a little to the recently-opened 
account at the bank round the corner. 


CHAPTER VI 


In the corner of the lounge of the Savoy Hotel an 
unusually handsome youngster was sitting alone. It 
was about five o’clock in the afternoon, and several 
people were watching him with considerable interest. 
They all saw him look eagerly up every time that the 
big doors swung round to shoot a newcomer in from 
the Strand, but by no means all drew the same con¬ 
clusions. An old gentleman who was pretending to 
read the Financial Times amused himself by trying to 
picture the girl for whom the boy was waiting. Of 
course he must be waiting for a girl; he had that look, 
compounded of excitement and a badly-concealed 
irritation which, according to the old gentleman, was 
peculiar to youths who had been kept waiting for more 
than the legitimate ten minutes. And he chuckled to 
himself. Time had been when he would have waited 
an hour himself. . . . 

As it happened, the old gentleman was wrong, and 
so was a lady who sat near to him. She was a large 
elderly lady who belonged to Chicago and had married 
Cornelius Welkenberg—the third richest man in that 
astonishing city. She had been admiring the boy’s 
good looks, and debating with herself the possibility 
of his being a lord. He corresponded very well with 
58 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 59 

her ideas of a lord. This was her first visit to Eu¬ 
rope, and as yet she had not made the acquaintance 
of a British nobleman; but the illustrated papers had 
allowed her to see much of Britain’s aristocracy 
through the camera’s eye, and this boy- She de¬ 

cided that he was a Viscount. A Viscount ranked 
lower than a Marquis. Was that right? In any case 
this one probably owned a beautiful place somewhere 
away in the Welsh mountains. She drew fanciful 
pictures of an old moated castle which had belonged 
to his family from the days of William the Conqueror. 

He might even be a descendant of that glorious 
monarch, for he bore, she told herself, a certain re¬ 
semblance to that dear Prince of Wales. 

Like Mrs. Welkenberg, a tall thin man near the 
entrance was trying to “place” him. The boy’s 
clothes, he saw, had obviously come from the neigh¬ 
bourhood of Savile Row. He had the air of a sahib. 
There was nothing to connect him with the City or 
the stage, and absence of moustache precluded the 
Army. A junior naval officer perhaps? Apparently 
he was staying in the hotel. Probably some rich idler. 

The tall, thin man scowled. Just then he was not 
in a mood to be able to think of a rich young man 
with equanimity. Only that morning he had drawn 
his last ten pounds from the bank. He was not 
staying in the hotel, and if he had been asked why 
he was sitting in the Savoy lounge, he would not 
have been able to give a satisfactory reply. In point 
of fact, Captain John Ridley, late of the Southshires, 
was out of a job and near to desperation. A month 



60 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

ago he had managed to win money at Newmarket, but 
at the moment there was nothing but ten pounds left 
—ten pounds and a small square box in his pocket 
which contained something of potential value. And 
so the sight of a young man in beautiful clothes, 
lounging at ease, obviously rich and unworried, gave 
Captain Ridley no pleasure at all. 

The youngster, however, was not waiting for a 
girl, and he was neither rich nor unworried. He was 
not a peer, and so far from living in a moated castle, 
circumstances had forced his mother to take a lodger 
into her very small house in a side street in Bournsea. 
And Mr. Prince was in London with the express in¬ 
tention of driving out to Chelsea in order to visit Miss 
Doris Esmonde. 

He had been in London for two whole days, but 
he had not gone to Chelsea. 

And now as he sat in the lounge he was thinking 
how curiously unpleasant it all was. In the London 
train he had looked forward to an immediate visit 
to Miss Doris. He had seen himself asked to stay 
for dinner, and possibly offered a bed. He had figured 
a most wonderful week, during which Miss Doris and 
he would be hugely enjoying themselves. And yet, 
fifty miles from London, he had suddenly become 
aware that her invitation had not really been couched 
in the warm terms he had supposed. In fact, each 
time he had looked at the invitation, it had become 
colder. At Waterloo it had been icy: the merest po¬ 
liteness. She had no real desire to see him again. 
She had simply been playing a game. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 61 

Well, he was the last sort of person to thrust him¬ 
self where he wasn’t wanted. 

Driving to the Savoy, he had argued that she 
needn’t have asked him to call, if she hadn’t wanted 
to see him again; but although a rich luncheon had 
removed some of his doubts for a time, he had not 
been able to make up his mind to drive out to 
Chelsea. 

And during the next twenty-four hours he had 
wandered about the hotel, and done nothing. 

How frightfully difficult it was to understand 
women! Long ago in the King Henry Ashley had 
said so; now he was seeing for himself. You simply 
couldn’t fathom them. They didn’t seem to work 
on a plan, or think about things in an orderly way. 
And you never knew what they meant. Probably 
they didn’t always know themselves. 

And what was the use of going to Chelsea if they 
were no longer pals ? 

She didn’t really care whether she saw him again 
or not. 

He certainly wouldn’t think of going. 

In fact, he would blot her out of his memory. 

Absolutely. 

He was in London, not to see any chit of a girl, 
but on business. That was why he had come to the 
Savoy Hotel. Business. 

But there was no business to be done. None. 
And it really was rather rotten, because at the Ritz 
Miss Doris and he had been the best of good pals. 
He had never been obliged to think about what he 


62 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


should say to her: words had just come. They had 
understood each other almost at once. In fact, they 
might have known each other all their lives. She 
had been exactly his sort. 

Mr. Prince sighed. She still was exactly his sort, 
if only- 

And just because of that stupid affair, because he 
was plain Mr. Prince instead of an earl, she could 
treat him in this way! It was all the more ridiculous 
because she had told him she was keen on the Navy, 
and his first letter to her had laid stress on the fact 
that he had served in the King Henry, whose exploits 
no doubt would be familiar to her. But she had made 
no mention of the Navy in any of her letters to him; 
she had simply ignored its existence. It was enough 
to make a man swear never to- 

His thoughts were jerked rudely aside. A huge, 
red-bearded farmer-like man in untidy clothes had 
come into the lounge from one of the adjoining 
rooms, and after glancing casually about him, had 
caught sight of Mr. Prince. For a moment he stared 
doubtfully, and then with a chuckle of satisfaction he 
marched up to the boy. 

“Hullo, young Oxney, my lad, and what brings 
you to London?” 

There was no question about Mr. Prince’s surprise. 
Neverthless he managed to remain his usual cool self. 
Several ideas passed at swallow-pace through his 
mind. Who on earth was this man with the red 
beard which stuck out so queerly from his face? He 
had seen him somewhere before, he thought, but 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 63 

where? The question, moreover, of his own identity, 
momentarily disturbed him. Ought he to announce 
his real name ? (Somehow a voice inside him seemed 

to be whispering a definite “No.”) Most important 
of all, however, was the possibility that here might 
be the beginning of another adventure. 

Mr. Prince remained cool, but the red-bearded 
man must have noticed a slight hesitation on the young 
man’s part, for he laughed very loudly as he shook 
hands. “You remember me, don’t you?” he went on 
in his hearty way. “I’m Kirkaldy. We met at the 
Wintons.” 

Of course! He must have seen portraits of the 
Duke of Kirkaldy hundreds of times in the illustrated 
papers. And only a week or two ago he had been 
watching the Duke’s yacht sail gracefully out of the 
harbour at Bournsea. That was the time when he 
had come to his great decision not to go into the 
bank. He had been envious of this Duke who could 
take a holiday whenever he chose, cruising from har¬ 
bour to harbour, doing exactly what he liked. And 
here he was, making the same mistake that the station- 
master had made at Oxney Junction and Lady Oxney 
herself at the Ritz Hotel! It was really very odd. 

(The Wintons? He hadn’t an idea who they 
might be. Probably some very rich folk. He was 
certain he had never heard their name before. But 
he could find out all about them, if necessary, in one 
of those big red books which told you all about people 
with titles.) 

He managed to smile. “But I didn’t expect to see 


64 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

you here/’ he said cleverly. “I thought you were 
cruising up the East Coast.” 

“So I was, my boy, so I was; and at Holy Island 
they wired me to come back at once, damn every one 
of them. Why can’t they leave a fellow alone ?” He 
had sat himself down in the next chair, and was offer¬ 
ing the boy a cigarette. “And now,” he went on 
plaintively, “I may have to stay here four or five days. 
It’s the most ridiculous nonsense. Can’t think why 
they wanted me here at all. House shut up and all 
the rest of it. Trustees, my boy, are the very devil. 
Yes, you can take it from me. Devils. Can’t stand 
’em. Never know what they want, and expect you to 
obey orders just as if you were at school again. ’Pon 
my soul, if I had my own way, I’d drown the whole lot 
of ’em. Interfering old fools. Well, thank the Lord, 
I’ve met somebody I know. London in August ’s 
like nothing on earth. You staying in the hotel?” 

“Oh yes, for a few days.” Mr. Prince was try¬ 
ing to think. Here was the Duke of Kirkaldy talking 
to him like an old friend, and the Duke of Kirkaldy 
was supposed to be one of the richest men in the king¬ 
dom. He owned whole counties up in Scotland. 
There were priceless collections in his castles, and he 
was related to Royalty. And that white yacht of his 
was the rippingest yacht ever built. 

“Good, then I shall see something of you. To¬ 
night I’ve got to dine out with an aunt—she’s about 
ninety and the most awful old dragon, and I shan’t 
get anything to eat but cold beef, but I must go, or 
there’ll be the devil’s own rumpus. But to-morrow, 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 65 

my boy, we’ll amuse ourselves. We’ll lunch together, 
and—hello, there’s my lawyer fellow again! Now I 
wonder what he wants at this hour?” The Duke 
looked almost scared. “Good God, he’s followed me 
here! I shall have to listen to him for another two 
hours.” He sighed. “Well, see you later on. If I 
don’t, to-morrow here in the lounge at one.” He 
laughed loudly again, winked at Mr. Prince, and 
lurched off. 

The boy continued to sit where he was. Obviously 
another adventure had come his way. He would 
have to be mightily careful, of course, because the 
Duke of Kirkaldy would not be wanting to follow Mr. 
Elton’s example and seek his help. On the other hand 
there was no reason why he shouldn’t enjoy himself 
at the Duke’s expense. If people chose to make silly 
mistakes- 

He thought of Miss Doris. 

Would she expect him to blurt out the truth at 
once? 

She probably would. 

He ought to explain—to-morrow at lunch. Even 
before lunch. Naturally the Duke wouldn’t want to 
stand lunch to a stranger. 

But they weren’t strangers! 

It was really most difficult to know what to do. 

He sat there, and was ignorant of the fact that 
those who were watching him were more interested 
than ever in his identity. Mrs. Welkenberg from 
Chicago was now fully convinced that her surmise 
about his rank had been correct. She had just been 



66 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


informed that the red-bearded man was the Duke of 
Kirkaldy. The Duke and the boy were obviously 
friends. Old friends. She smiled to herself. It 
ought not to be very difficult to make the young man’s 
acquaintance. 

And Captain John Ridley was not unaware of the 
red-bearded man’s identity. He, too, sat on and 
watched, and thought very hard, and in a little while 
came to the conclusion that he had been wise to come 
to the Savoy Hotel. 


CHAPTER VII 


In the American bar a cocktail was being prepared 
for Mr. Prince. He was not particularly fond of 
cocktails, and five minutes ago he had had no in¬ 
tention of visiting the bar. He had fully decided to 
drive out to Chelsea. But for some reason or other 
the visit to Chelsea seemed to belong to to-morrow 
or the day after, and there was nothing to do before 
dinner. Also this was a special cocktail whose ac¬ 
quaintance he had first made in Cape Town. 

There were not many men in the bar, but Captain 
Ridley was there, and he seemed to be greatly inter¬ 
ested in the barman’s methods of mixing his ingredi¬ 
ents. “Something new?” he inquired, and it would 
have been difficult to say whether he was addressing 
the barman or Mr. Prince. 

“It’s a Durban Joy,” announced the barman. 

Captain Ridley looked at Mr. Prince, and smiled. 
“That is new to me,” he said pleasantly. “Your own 
invention ?” 

Mr. Prince explained how he had first come to 
try it. 

Captain Ridley opened his cigarette-case. “I should 
like to follow your example, and try one,” said he, and 
produced matches. “I’m always out for adventure— 
in drinks as well as anything else. I’ve a catholic 
67 


68 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


taste.” He laughed quietly to himself. “Finest 
drink I ever had in my life”—he paused, and looked 
up at the ceiling—“well, no, not that one perhaps. I 
was thinking of a time when we couldn’t get any 
water, and my throat was like a burnt cork. That 
was in the Sudan, but it was only a question of finding 
something wet. The finest drink I ever had was the 
one they gave me on board the old Triumphant, five 
minutes after they’d let me out of Turkey.” 

“A prisoner?” 

“I should say so. And not in the first division 
either. Johnny Turk was not very modern in his 
ideas about prisons.” 

“No, I’ve heard one or two bad accounts.” 

“And I’d be willing to bet a fiver you haven’t been 
told a hundredth part of the truth. Talk of hell! 
Why—well,” he went on, “I was taken at Kut, and 
I expect you know what that meant.” 

“But do tell me. I haven’t heard very much.” 

“Sure it won’t bore you?” 

“Rather not. You see, I expected to go out to 
Constant, myself, but they sent us in the King Henry 
to Cape Town instead. That was after the scrap, 
of course.” 

“The one off the Spanish coast?” 

“Yes.” Mr. Prince looked pleased. 

“Lord, well, I don’t suppose you missed much. 
However, if you want to hear, I don’t mind yarning 
a bit. I’ve nothing much to do. You see, after 
Kut-” 

There followed a highly exciting account of the 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 69 

horrors of Turkish prisons. Captain Ridley, it 
seemed, had undergone incredible hardships. He had 
attempted to escape by simulating madness, and suc¬ 
ceeded in being taken to Constantinople, and escaped 
from the hospital there, and starved, and been re¬ 
captured, and taken to a hell-upon-earth where half 
his fellow-prisoners went mad. 

“Nowadays/’ he finished, “I can hardly believe it, 
but we were literally treated like curs. And then, 
when the Armistice came, and we saw your fellows 
steaming into the Porte, you can guess what we felt. 
They had cocktails ready waiting. Lord, I wanted to 
fall on their necks. On leave now?” he added, as he 
drained his glass. 

Mr. Prince admitted that he had now left the Navy. 

“No chance of promotion these days in your serv¬ 
ice, and precious little in ours. I resigned my com¬ 
mission last year. Don’t know if it was wise, 
though,” he added thoughtfully. “It’s so difficult to 
know what to do. Sometimes I think I’ll go back to 
Turkey. I know their lingo, you see, and ... I say, 
have another, and let’s sit down if you’ve nothing 
better to do.” 

Mr. Prince sat down, and drank another cocktail, 
this time at Captain Ridley’s expense. And in a little 
while he was on the best of terms with this ex-prisoner 
of the Turks. Names had somehow come to be ex¬ 
changed, and mutual compliments paid to their respec¬ 
tive services. Captain Ridley told more yarns of his 
hardships, and asked for particulars about the famous 
exploits of the King Henry. Whereupon Mr. Prince 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


70 

told of his never-to-be-forgotten encounter with the 
German spy, and gave a concise account of the Spanish 
scrap which he had found in one of the newspapers, 
and imitated one or two of the Admiral’s facial pecul¬ 
iarities. Captain Ridley told him that he ought to go 
on the stage, and wished that he himself had some par¬ 
lour trick at his command. But a public school educa¬ 
tion and nothing else didn’t seem to help a man much 
in these days, and- 

“Think I saw you in the lounge just now,” he re¬ 
marked, changing the conversation, “with the Duke of 
Kirkaldy.” 

“Oh yes,” said Mr. Prince. 

“H’m, I wouldn’t mind having his money.” 

“Nor would I,” agreed the boy heartily. 

“The fact is I’ve never been so hard up in my life.” 
Captain Ridley was lighting another cigarette. 

“I expect we’re all in the same box.” 

The Captain looked at him curiously. “You hard 
up?” he asked. 

Mr. Prince, feeling confidential no doubt, admitted 
that he had come to London to replenish his purse. 

Captain Ridley expressed surprise, and then remained 
silent for so long a time that Mr. Prince began to 
wonder. He liked this Captain Ridley, but that was 
hardly a reason for allowing the man to learn any 
details about his own financial position. On the other 
hand could it matter very much ? 

(It might have been fun to give Oxney’s name in¬ 
stead of his own.) 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 71 

Suddenly Captain Ridley jerked himself up in his 
chair. “Look here, ,, he said, “let’s have another. 

I believe-” He was staring very hard at the boy. 

“Are you really here to look for a job?” 

“Well, it depends on what you call a job.” 

“I mean, are you really here to make money?” 

“Yes.” 

Two more cocktails were ordered. Then: 

“Don’t think me impertinent,” said the Captain, 
“but do you know the Duke of Kirkaldy well?” 

Mr. Prince smiled. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said 
modestly. “Not particularly. We’re lunching to¬ 
gether to-morrow.” 

“I see. The fact is-” He was fumbling in his 

pocket. “I’ve got something here I think he might 
buy. Isn’t he supposed to have one of the biggest col¬ 
lections in the world of old silver and gold and that 
sort of thing?” 

Mr. Prince was not sure. 

“Well, I’ve been told so. Look here.” He had 
taken from his pocket a small square box. “There’s 
a little drinking-cup in here which doesn’t look very 
valuable, though it is. It’s Turkish, and it’s made of 
gold, and it’s about three hundred years old. It’s 
one of a set which belongs to the Sultans, and is only 
used, as far as I can make out, on special religious 
occasions. Nobody outside Turkey has ever seen one 
—I mean, except the people I’ve shown this one to, 
but the collectors know of their existence, and I believe 
one of the books has a picture of the whole set.” He 




7 2 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

had opened the box, and was holding out a handleless 
cup heavily chased. “That little cup,” he went on, “is 
worth anything you like, and it’s mine.” 

Mr. Prince admired the delicate workmanship, and 
handed the cup back. “Solid gold?” he asked. 

“Solid gold,” repeated the Captain in a low voice, 
“and you’d never guess how it came into my posses¬ 
sion. No, but many curious things happened in Tur¬ 
key during the last few weeks of the war. Our posi¬ 
tion wasn’t so bad then, but if you’d told me I’d be 
moving heaven and earth to get a Turkish prisoner 
out of prison while the war was still on, I shouldn’t 
have believed you. But he was a white man, was 
Damad Pasha, with an honourable wound, and I’d 
a fairly long score marked up against Dowlat Effendi, 
the prison Commandant and a senior Colonel, although 
I don’t suppose he’d ever heard a big gun fired in 
his life. 

“Well, Damad belonged to one of the best families 
in Turkey—I rather fancy he was a cousin of the 
Sultan’s—and he had become one of my gaolers. He 
taught me Turkish, and I taught him English, and we 
became friends, chiefly, I expect, because we both 
loathed the Colonel so much. Dowlat, yes. If ever 

we meet in hell- No matter. I want to tell you 

about this cup. One day Damad came to my room, 
and I knew at once that something was wrong. He 
was in an awful state. He told me he had come to 
say good-bye. A terrible thing had happened. He 
had suddenly been accused of embezzling a large sum 
of money, and admitted that things looked very black 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 73 

against him. I was almost as upset as he was, and 
made him give me all the details. Well, things did 
look black, but I absolutely believed him when he told 
me he was innocent. He was taken to Constantinople, 
and that was the end of our lessons. I never expected 
to be able to help him, but shortly afterwards Dowlat 
sent for me, and almost before I got into his room, I 
knew that Turkey was done for. I can’t tell you 
how I knew, but I did. There was a change in the 
fellow. He had always been cunning, but now the 
cunning was mixed with a new sort of politeness. 
And then it turned out that their War Office wanted 
a few British officers who knew Turkish to help on 
things in Constant, until an armistice should be 
signed. You can imagine the sort of thing, and— 
would I go? Naturally I said ‘Yes,’ and then, 
what d’you think? That old fool asked me to fix up 
some business for him in Constant., and actually gave 
me proof of his guilt with regard to poor Damad’s 
affair. Of course he didn’t know that I knew any¬ 
thing about it, but you can imagine what I did when 
I reached Constant. And after enormous trouble, 
and with the help of General Townshend himself, I 
was able to secure Damad’s release.” 

He paused. “Rather dramatic, wasn’t it? I don’t 
know what happened tO' Dowlat, but the evidence I 
possessed was so complete that Damad had to be 
released, and he was so damn’ grateful that he gave 
me this cup, which had been presented to his grand¬ 
father by Abdul Hamid years before. I didn’t realize 
at the time what a valuable gift it was, but a Major 


74 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

friend of mine who understands these things told me 
it was worth anything up to a thousand pounds!” 

He looked at Mr. Prince. “A thousand pounds! 
Well, naturally I didn’t want to sell a present like 

that, but-” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve 

got to. And I’d be willing to sell for £500, if I could 
find the right man.” 

There came another little pause. 

“Have you tried any of the dealers?” 

“Dealers!” cried Captain Ridley with scorn. 
“They’re the biggest thieves in the world. They’d 
probably offer me a hundred, and sell it for a thou¬ 
sand. Oh no, you don’t get me doing business with 
a dealer.” 

“So you want to sell it privately?” 

The other nodded. “Look here,” he said, “if you 
want money, I might be able to do you a good turn. 
Service men like ourselves ought to stand together. 
It was that Major friend of mine who mentioned the 
Duke of Kirkaldy as a possible buyer. If you showed 
him the cup, and persuaded him to buy it for £500, 
there’d be—er, £50 for you.” 

Mr. Prince woke up with a start. His thoughts 
had been in Turkey, but suddenly, it seemed, romance 
had given place to finance. He was being offered a 
commission. It was necessary to be very cunning. 
“May I see the cup again?” he asked, and took it into 
his hands, and closely examined the chasing. It was 
really a most beautiful piece of work. He knew 
nothing whatever about such things, but its beauty 
could not be denied. On the other hand £500 seemed 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 75 

a preposterous sum for one small cup, even if it hap¬ 
pened to be three hundred years old and made of the 
purest gold. 

“Well?” 

“But the Duke might not know its true value.” 

Captain Ridley smiled. “I tell you, my boy, all 
collectors know of the existence of this service, but 
most of them can’t afford a big price these days. 
But your friend-” 

Mr. Prince was thinking. It would be bad enough 
having to explain to the Duke that his name was not 
Oxney—he supposed he would have to—but it would 
be worse still to try to sell him a cup which might be 

worth very little. Yet if it were so rare a piece-- 

“I’m not sure,” he was beginning, but the Captain 
interrupted. 

“Look here,” said he, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. 
Of course there’s no question about the genuineness of 
the cup. The Duke will know its value as soon as 
he sees it. You’re lunching with him to-morrow, and 
I’ll see you here in the morning, and lend you the cup. 
What about that? I had thought of advertising,” he 
added, “but if I did, the dealers would be on to me 
like a shot and—well, hang it all, one doesn’t want to 
parade one’s poverty. If I wasn’t absolutely on the 
rocks, I’d never dream of asking you-” 

“But wouldn’t it be simpler for you to go to the 
Duke?” 

“No, because he’d naturally think me a dealer. 
He’d think me a dealer even if you were to introduce 
me. No. Show him the cup casually, and tell him 





76 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

a pal of yours wants to sell it—tell him, if you like, 
how I got it—and doesn’t want to have anything to 
do with the dealers. Oh, you know the sort of thing 
to say.” 

“And there’d be fifty pounds for me?” 

“Yes, if you got rid of it. That’s ten per cent.” 

“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” promised Mr. Prince, 
and found himself shaking hands. Later on he was 
dining at the other’s expense. Captain Ridley, he 
found, was really a most entertaining talker. 


CHAPTER VIII 


It was after dinner that evening that Mr. Prince 
conceived the idea of telephoning to Chelsea. A 
half-bottle of wine and Captain Ridley’s conversation 
had brought him into a rather more optimistic mood. 
After all, he had been invited to call, not on any par¬ 
ticular day, but just when he found himself with noth¬ 
ing to do, and not too far from Chelsea. The Savoy 
Hotel was no more than two or three miles away, 
and a taxicab-- 

But if he were to hear Miss Doris’s voice before 
seeing her, it might be helpful. He would be able to 
discover from her tones whether they were still pals 
or not. 

“Hullo, Doris,” he would say, and then find out 
whether she knew his voice at once, or had forgotten 
it, or pretended not to know it. And if she sounded 
unfriendly or stiff or coldly polite, he would post¬ 
pone his visit for a day or two. The telephone call, 
at any rate, would inform her of his arrival in 
London. 

And so with an assumption of boredom, he shut 
himself up in a telephone box, and was lucky enough 
to get through to Miss Esmonde almost at once. 

“Hullo, Doris.” 

“Hullo—Oliver.” 


77 



78 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

And then, curiously enough, Mr. Prince lost all 
sense of nervous hesitation. The telephone had 
never been so friendly before. He could almost see 
her at the other end. It seemed incredible that he 
had been in London for more than two days. 

“Well,” came the voice of Miss Esmonde, “I’ve 
just finished dinner.” 

“So have I.” 

“Are you coming round?” 

“When? Now?” 

“Yes. There’s nobody here except father and 
Aunt Mabel. I’ll give you some coffee, if you’re not 
too long.” 

“I say, I’d love to.” 

“Well, do.” 

“And, I say, Doris, are you wearing that pink 
dress ?” 

“Of course I’m not. You don’t suppose I dress 
up for Aunt Mabel? And you don’t think I’m going 
to dress up for—you?” 

Mr. Prince’s excitement was growing. “I say, you 
know, I want to explain things. Your letters-” 

“If you want any coffee-” There was a sharp 

crack, and he was cut off. But he did not mind very 
much. He waited for a moment or two, to see 
whether she would speak again, but when he heard 
a voice, it was a harsh bass which demanded to know 
the number he required. He walked out and was 
taken up to his room, where his hair received a final 
brush and his black tie a final readjustment. 

In the taxicab, it is true, he was conscious of some 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 79 

perturbation. On the telephone she had been extraor¬ 
dinarily friendly, but then somebody might have been 
in the room with her. In which case, of course, she 
would have had to disguise her real feelings. Well, 
the best thing would be to behave as though he had 
never pretended to be Lord Oxney at all. Probably 
he would have no opportunity of seeing her alone 
this evening, and in any case he would have to make 
himself pleasant to the aunt. On the other hand 
Doris might have told her father what he had done, 
and Mr. Esmonde might be one of those men who 
would want to know every detail and who would ask 
awkward questions. 

But would he? Mr. Prince would be his guest. 
He probably wouldn’t. 

And even if he did- 

“I shall make them laugh,” Mr. Prince told him¬ 
self, and sat back in the cab, and looked at himself 
in the tiny mirror that faced him. 

He need not have worried. He had not been in 
the Esmondes’ house for three minutes before he 
was feeling thoroughly at home. Miss Doris had ap¬ 
parently forgotten the coldness of her letters, and 
behaved like a very old pal. Aunt Mabel, too, 
seemed delighted to see him, and Mr. Esmonde, who 
was a high official in the Foreign Office, was a splen¬ 
didly handsome man who laughed and joked as though 
he had forgotten to grow up. 

They sat in a beautiful oak-panelled room, and the 
coffee was delicious. Mr. Prince, reclining at ease 
in an enormous arm-chair, could not understand why 



8o THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


he had ever hesitated to come. There, actually in 
front of him, was Miss Doris, in a pale yellow dress 
which suited her even better than the pink frock she 
had worn at the Ritz. And she looked lovelier than 
ever. He could hardly believe that he was really in 
her father’s house. . . . 

“And I hear,” remarked his host, “that you’re no 
longer in the Navy.” 

“No, there isn’t much chance nowadays unless 
you’ve got all sorts of influence.” 

“It’s rather a shame,” declared Miss Doris. 

“I think you’re wise,” said her father, “but what 
are you going to do? High finance?” 

Mr. Prince looked up quickly to see whether Mr. 
Esmonde was laughing at him, but his host seemed 
in earnest. “I don’t really know,” he said: “it de¬ 
pends. I’ve come up to have a look round.” 

“Good. We could do with some young blood.” 

“There is money to be made, Mr. Esmonde,” con¬ 
tinued the boy, wondering whether a private inter¬ 
view with the girl was too much to hope for, “if 
you’re lucky enough to meet the right people.” 

“Ah, but that’s the problem! Who are the right 
people? But do you think you’re one of the lucky 
ones?” Mr. Esmonde was smiling. 

“I think I am,” replied Mr. Prince smiling too. 

He looked shyly at Miss Doris. “Only to-day-” 

He stopped. The fifty pounds was still a long way 
off, and he did not want to boast before comparative 
strangers. 

“Only to-day—what?” asked the girl. 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 81 

“Well, you see, if my luck holds I shall be £50 
richer to-morrow than I am to-day.” 

“Fifty pounds!” 

“And all for selling a little drinking-cup!” 

“A what?” asked Mr. Esmonde. 

“Just a little gold cup.” 

“I see. Fifty pounds, eh?” 

“It seems a very large sum for a cup,” observed 
Aunt Mabel. 

“Oh, but that’s only my commission. The cup 
is very old, and it used to belong to the Sultans of 
Turkey. And it’s worth £500 at least.” 

“God bless my soul!” cried Mr. Esmonde, who 
seemed greatly impressed. “Who the dickens has 
£500 these days to buy a cup?” 

“Well, that’s the point. I don’t know if I shall 
be able to sell it, but I’m seeing a man to-morrow 
who collects these things, and he’s awfully rich, and 
the man to whom it belongs says that it’s really worth 
a thousand.” 

“I wouldn’t mind earning £50 so easily every day.” 
Mr. Esmonde was lighting a fresh cigar. 

“You’d be able to keep me in clothes if you did,” 
remarked Miss Doris. 

“You’re a wicked ungrateful child,” said her father. 

Just then Mr. Prince fell in love with Aunt Mabel, 
for that lady suddenly raised her voice. “Now I 
won’t have any quarrels to-night.” She chuckled. 
“Doris dear, won’t you take Mr. Prince to the billiard- 
room, and give him a game? I’m sure he plays.” 

“You play?” cried the boy. “Pm frightfully keen.” 


82 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


The girl looked almost as pleased as himself. 
“Rather! I can give father twenty and beat him.” 

“Don’t exaggerate, my child,” said Mr. Esmonde. 
“You know I allow you to win.” 

“He doesn’t,” laughed the girl, rising up. “He’s 
a wicked old parent who allows his only daughter and 
heiress to go about in rags.” 

“Is he?” said Mr. Esmonde, highly amused. 
“Well, run along, the two of you, and don’t forget 
to bring Mr. Prince to the library for a whisky-and- 
soda before he goes.” 

There followed what Mr. Prince honestly con¬ 
sidered was the most delightful hour he had ever spent 
in his life. 

The game opened in a business-like way, and the 
girl soon showed her prowess. Obviously she had 
been well coached, and almost at once Mr. Prince 
saw that he would have to play very seriously indeed 
if he intended to beat her. He wanted to beat her, 
but at the same time he wanted to talk about those 
letters of hers. 

“I say, you know,” he said, after a while, “you do 
play well.” 

“Do I? It’s your turn to play, you know.” 

“Yes, but—I wanted to ask you about—you know, 
those letters of yours.” 

She looked at him very innocently. “What about 
them?” 

He stared for a moment, and then took a plunge. 
“Doris, did you think me a beast for pretending to 
be-” 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 83 

“I shall, if you don’t go on playing.” 

“No, but—I mean—about-” 

“Old silly, it was a glorious rag. I howled with 
laughter, and I was just going to tell father every¬ 
thing, when—when I didn’t,” she finished abruptly. 
“So now you can go on playing, and if you fluke-” 

He had moved nearer to her, and taken hold of her 
arm. “So it’s really all right?” he asked, and looked 
into her eyes. “We’re really pals?” 

“You’re hurting my arm.” 

“But are we really pals?” 

“Didn’t I ask you to call?” 

“Yes, I know, but it was rather a rotten letter. I 
mean, they all were.” 

“Were they?” She was trying to look severe. 

“You know they were.” 

There came a tiny pause. He was still holding her 
arm, and looking intently at her, but she had turned 
her face away, and now seemed to be measuring in¬ 
visible angles between the balls on the table. “I’ll 
try and write a nicer letter next time,” she said at 
last. “But not if you don’t go on playing at once.” 

“I say, Doris,# I’m—you are a ripper. Let’s write 
every day. I’ll tell you all my adventures, and 


“Get on with the game,” ordered Doris, “or I’ll— 
I’ll call father.” 

So Mr. Prince endeavoured to concentrate all his 
attention on the game, and managed to win by fifteen 
points, after which he made her sit down with him 
on a settee, and with a boldness which afterwards 





84 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

frightened him, took hold of her hands, and pulled 
her towards him, and gave her a kiss. She called him 
a brute, but he explained that he had beaten her at 
billiards, and was therefore entitled to a prize. 

“Besides, we’re pals. And you’ve got such rip¬ 
ping hair.” 

“You didn’t kiss my hair!” 

“No, but don’t you like being kissed? I say, I 
must kiss you again. Just one.” 

“If father knew-” 

“But he needn’t know—yet.” 

“ 01 —iv—er! Remember we’ve only met three 
times in our lives.” 

“I know. Isn’t it funny? Doris, you do make a 
fellow-” 

He stopped, and they hurriedly fell apart. The 
door was opening. Mr. Esmonde appeared. 

“Finished your game? Good. Then I’ll take Mr. 
Prince off to the library before he goes, to talk finance, 
and you, my girl, can go to bed.” 

His girl pulled a face. “He treats me like a baby,” 
she complained to Mr. Prince. “Well, good night. 
Come again soon, and I’ll beat you.” 

They shook hands very formally, and Mr. Prince 
followed his host into the library. 

And there they talked of many things, and Mr. 
Esmonde proved to be such an interesting talker— 
quite as entertaining as Captain Ridley—that it was 
after midnight before his guest went. 

As he drove back to the hotel, Mr. Prince thought 
that it had been a truly remarkable evening. 




CHAPTER IX 


At an early hour the next morning Mr. Prince 
made the acquaintance of Mrs. Welkenberg of Chi¬ 
cago and her husband, a little wisp of a man with 
silver hair and a ring round his tie. The large lady 
collided rather violently with him in the lift, and 
seemed afraid lest she had seriously hurt him. 

“I guess,” said she, “I’m the worst kind of elephant, 
but these elevators of yours give me the jumps.” 

She seemed so upset that he felt bound to accept 
her invitation to the Welkenberg suite, where he was 
speedily made acquainted with the American way of 
doing things. Mrs. Welkenberg had poured out her 
family history almost before the door had closed be¬ 
hind him. She had just married off her only daughter 
to a man almost as rich as her husband. She had 
come to Europe to spend money and enjoy herself. 
Meant to see what little old England really was like, 
and might persuade Cornelius to buy a castle. Cor¬ 
nelius liked pictures and things of that kind, but she 
preferred people. “Your dandiest folk,” said she, 
and stopped, and looked round the room, and seized 
hold of a large dish of muscat grapes. 

“Now these, I guess, are almost the best your 
conservatories can pro-duce. Please help yourself, 
and-” 


85 



86 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


She was demanding his name. 

Mr. Prince gave his correct name, and was amused 
to be asked what particular prefix should be applied 
to it. 

“Oh, just plain Mister,” he told her, and wondered 
what would have happened had he given Lord Oxney’s 
name. 

“Mister!” boomed Mrs. Welkenberg. “Say, now, 
and I was certain you were a lord!” 

Was she disappointed? Mr. Prince thought that 
she was, and did not know what to say. H'e could 
not continue to eat grapes, and he wanted to get 
away; but Mr. Welkenberg seemed to be guarding the 
door, and his wife obviously desired him to stay. 

“It’s a queer place, though, this England,” she went 
on. “I never know who or what your folk are going 
to turn out to be. Look at your friend the Duke of 
Kirkaldy! Why, he looks like a hired man!” 

Mr. Prince smiled. 

“I guess he’s one of your richest lords.” Mr. 
Welkenberg had opened his mouth for the first time. 

“Yes, I suppose he is.” 

“Well, a man’s no different, I guess, for being a 
Duke.” 

“Cornelius, be quiet. I want to ask Mr. Prince all 
sorts of questions.” 

And ask them she did. They were embarrassing 
questions, some of them, about the peerage in general 
and the Duke of Kirkaldy in particular, about Royal 
etiquette, and about his own family and future pro¬ 
fession. He had never been asked so many questions 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 87 

in his life. But there was something very jolly about 
the large lady, and Mr. Prince came to the conclu¬ 
sion that he liked her. In fact he accepted her invita¬ 
tion to dinner that evening. 

After which he rushed away to keep his appoint¬ 
ment with Captain Ridley. 

Already he had made his plans; very cunning plans. 
The sort of plan that would allow him to have great 
fun with Mr. Waynflete when he returned to Bourn- 
sea with more money, and related how he had earned 
it. Yes, the plans were certainly going to bring him 
in £50, if not more. At the same time he would have 
to be very careful. The luncheon with the Duke 
might lead to much, but it might lead to nothing. A 
false step- 

No, there were going to be no false steps. His 
good luck was not going to desert him. 

He found Captain Ridley in the lounge, and im¬ 
mediately invited him upstairs to his own room. 
“We don’t want to be overheard,” he said, “and ap¬ 
parently you don’t want to meet Kirkaldy. I think 
perhaps you’re right. If he did get it into his head 

you were a dealer- No, much better keep out of 

the way.” 

So they went upstairs, and there was considerable 
discussion before the precious cup was handed over 
into Mr. Prince’s keeping. Captain Ridley, it seemed, 
did not want to be seen by the Duke, but he did wish 
to remain in the hotel until such time as the transac¬ 
tion had been either completed or definitely rejected. 
Mr. Prince declared that the cup would be perfectly 




88 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

safe in his hands, and believed that undue hurry might 
ruin everything. He knew the Duke, he said, and his 
careful ways. Some little time and considerable 
pressure on his own part might be necessary before 
the cup actually changed hands. The Duke might 
want to consult a book or something of that kind. 
You couldn’t rush these things through in five minutes. 

Captain Ridley agreed, but frankly admitted that 
he wanted to know the result at the earliest possible 
moment. 

“Of course you do,” said Mr. Prince, “but you 
must give me time. I shall probably be with the 
Duke most of the afternoon. I’m dining with some 
Americans, but I shall be with the Duke until I dress 
for dinner. Give me until to-morrow morning. 
That will just be time enough to work out a little 
scheme I’ve got for dealing with him. Come round 
at eleven to-morrow.” 

Captain Ridley demurred, but was finally persuaded. 
They had a cocktail together downstairs, and Mr. 
Prince saw his friend walk out into the Strand. 

Ten minutes later he ran across Mr. Esmonde who, 
it seemed, was lunching that day at the Savoy, and 
he had hardly said good-bye before the Duke of 
Kirkaldy’s huge form appeared in the lounge. 

“‘Well now,” cried the big man, “here I am, and 
in the devil’s own temper. Confound everybody. 
You’ll have to cheer me up. I’m liverish, that’s what 
I am.” 

Mr. Prince smiled. “But suppose I only succeed 
in making you angrier?” he asked. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 89 

“Eh, what’s that? You make me angry? You 
couldn’t make me angry. The only people who can 
make me angry are trustees and lawyers and fellows 
who talk business. I’m not going to talk business 
with you, my lad, am I? Of course I’m not. Very 
well, then, you can’t make me angry. But you can 
cheer me up, and that’s what you’re going to do. 
You’ve got to make me laugh.” The Duke was pull¬ 
ing his beard. “Eve done enough business to last me 
a lifetime. Lord, yes. Now we’re going to be merry 
and bright. As we were that evening at the Win- 
tons,” he added. “Now let’s see what they can give 
us to eat.” 

They had luncheon, and the Duke’s ill-temper 
speedily left him. Mr. Prince entertained him with 
a number of good stories which he had heard in the 
King Henry. Then he spoke of that white yacht 
which he had last seen sailing serenely out of Bourn- 
sea harbour. 

The Duke became enthusiastic. “You’ll have to 
come for a cruise,” said he. 

“Nothing I’d like better,” Mr. Prince told him, 
and spoke the simple truth. 

“Then come any time you like. Come now. I 
expect I shall be off to-morrow or the day after. 
There’s nobody on board. I’ve got a man joining me 
farther north-” 

“It’s awfully kind of you, but—what d’you think 
of Bournsea?” he added abruptly. 

The Duke stared. “Beastliest harbour in Eng¬ 
land,” he declared. 



9 o 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


“And the town itself?” 

“The town? Ordinary sort of place, isn't it?” 

“I suppose it is. Do you know Sandmouth?” 

“Seen it from the sea. No harbour there, is 
there?” 

“Oh no. It’s the tiniest place. I used to live 
there.” 

The Duke seemed surprised. “I thought your place 
was inland.” 

Mr. Prince—with some little effort—was smiling. 
“No,” said he. “We had a house on the hill behind 
Sandmouth, but had to leave it during the war. Too 
expensive. So we went to Bournsea, into a much 
smaller house. Not even on the front. But when 
you haven’t got any money, you can’t help that sort 
of thing, can you?” 

A puzzled frown was showing itself on the Duke’s 
ruddy face. “But what the deuce d’you want with 
a house in Bournsea?” he demanded. 

“You must live somewhere,” observed Mr. Prince, 
watching his host very closely. 

“Well, but-” 

“And we’ve got a lodger, you know. Not the or¬ 
dinary sort of lodger, I admit, but—it’s rather rotten 
to be obliged to take a lodger, isn’t it?” 

The Duke was staring. “Hanged if I know what 
you’re talking about.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Prince, “I was talking about 
myself. You see, I’m not Oxney, though I’m sup¬ 
posed to be his double. I’m Oliver Prince.” 

The Duke’s mouth opened wide, and remained open 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 91 

for several moments. “Not Oxney?” he spluttered. 

“But—bless my stars! Not Ox- Then who, I 

should like to know, who the devil are you?” 

“I’ve just told you,” replied Mr. Prince with his 
most engaging smile. “May I go on eating your 
lunch ?” 

The Duke continued to stare, and then portentously 
frowned. He looked very fierce and suspicious. 
Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. 
And he was trying to remember something. Wasn’t 
it something to do with a gold brick or a Spanish 
castle? Confidence men who twisted you, somehow, 
round their little fingers. Sharps. Yes, that was the 
word. Or crooks. But crooks were generally of 
American birth, weren’t they? Then this boy- 

The ducal frown became more pronounced, and the 
red beard seemed to become bellicose. In another mo¬ 
ment, however, all was well. A deep murmur started 
somewhere behind that beard; it became louder; the 
Duke’s mouth opened again; his blue eyes nearly 
closed. And then the neighbouring tables began to 
smile because the Duke of Kirkaldy had pushed back 
his chair, and thrown up his great head, and was 
roaring with laughter. 

“My hat,” said he, “what a joke!” 

Mr. Prince did not attempt to hide his relief. 
“Isn’t it?” he agreed, and proceeded to give a rough 
account of himself and his adventure with the real 
Lord Oxney. He did not go into detail, and he did 
not enlarge upon his own devilish cunning in the 
matter of Jacobs. But he did describe his motor- 




92 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

drive to Oxney Towers in the middle of the night 
and the meeting with his double in that astonishing 
dressing-gown. 

“It’s the most extraordinary thing I ever heard 

of,” declared the Duke. “Why, you might easily- 

I—er—I’d have sworn you were Oxney.” 

“And you don’t mind giving me lunch?” 

“Mind?” roared the big man. “Why should I 
mind?” 

“Well, I suppose I ought to have told you of your 
mistake at once.” 

The Duke stared, and then laughed again. “Course 
you ought,” he cried, “but I’m damned glad you 
didn’t. Wouldn’t have missed this for worlds.” 

“And would you still like me to come on the yacht?” 

“Bless my soul, yes. I like you. You’d better tell 
my skipper some of those stories of yours. Not 
Oxney, you know! Lord!” He burst into laughter 
again, and the whole room watched. 

“It’s rather an adventure, isn’t it? I like adven¬ 
tures, you know. That’s why I like coming to big 
London hotels. And that reminds me. After we 
met yesterday, I had another interesting experience. 
I met a man, an ex-officer, who had been a prisoner 
in Turkey. He’d gone through the most awful time, 
though he was luckier than some of our fellows, be¬ 
cause he didn’t come home empty-handed. He was 
able to help some Turkish big-wig, and the Turk, he 
told me, gave him a most valuable present. Jolly 
little thing too. He showed it me. Sort of drinking- 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 93 

cup, solid gold, and supposed to be three hundred years 
old.” 

The Duke seemed suddenly keen. “Gold drinking- 
cup, eh? And Turkish? H’m. Sounds interesting. 
I believe they used to make some very fine stuff. 
Fancy I’ve got one or two small pieces myself. Or 
are they Persian? I don’t really know very much 
about these things, though my father used to coach 
me. The old boy, you know, was supposed to be the 
biggest expert in the world.” 

“I wish I had his knowledge. But you don’t learn 
much about such things if you’ve been in the Navy. 
They seem to fetch the most enormous prices.” 

“It’s' the dealers,” growled the Duke. “Never 
could stand the fellows myself.” 

“No, that’s what my man said. He rather thought 
of selling his cup, by the way. Demobilized and out 
of a job, you know.” 

“Poor devil!” 

“Yes. But of course he wouldn’t have anything 
to do with the dealers. I don’t blame him. Oh, and 
it was rather a coincidence, because when he showed 
me the cup, he mentioned your name as a collector.” 

“Well, there are a lot of things up in Fifeshire, 
where I live.” 

“In fact he suggested you as a possible buyer.” 

The Duke’s manner underwent a quick change. 
“I a buyer?” he shouted. “Why, my dear boy, that’s 
what I’m in London for. I don’t want to buy. I 
want to sell” 


94 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“Sell?” repeated Mr. Prince, looking puzzled. 

“Bless my soul, yes. I’m as poor as a church 
mouse. Got three or four places to keep up and no 
money to do it. Expect the yacht ’ll have to go next 
if something doesn’t happen very soon. That’s the 
trouble, don’t you see. These gold things of mine— 
well, they won’t let me pawn them or sell in the mar¬ 
ket. Trustees are such fools. They want me to wait. 
And—oh, it’s a lot of bunkum, but the long and the 
short of it is that I can’t sell my own things without 
the devil’s own fuss. Buy?” He laughed again. 
“That’s good.” 

Mr. Prince hurriedly changed the conversation by 
mentioning the fact that in addition to Captain Ridley, 
he had made the acquaintance of the Welkenbergs of 
Chicago. “I’m dining with them to-night,” said he. 

“Rolling, I suppose?” 

Mr. Prince nodded. “You ought to meet them.” 

“I ? Good Lord, I don’t want to meet them. 
They’d be much too rich for a fellow like me.” 

“Oh, they’re rather amusing,” Mr. Prince told him, 
“and I don’t mind meeting very rich people now and 
then.” 

That afternoon he went with the Duke to the Zoo, 
and nothing further was said of the gold cup. Mr. 
Prince, however, remained busy with his own plans, 
even while he was listening to the Duke’s account 
of such wild beasts as he had shot years ago in the 
African jungle. He was pleased to observe, too, 
that Oxney had apparently been altogether forgotten. 
The Duke was accepting him as an old friend, and 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 95 

that invitation to go on the yacht still held. Indeed, 
addresses had been carefully exchanged, and there 
had been much talk of a highly technical nature of 
navigation and the like. The Duke, it seemed, had 
been a Commander in the R.N.V.R. during the war, 
and knew all about the King Henry . He knew the 
Admiral and he knew Lord Bellchester, who was 
Lavery Doune’s father. In fact they got on very well 
together, and when the time came for Mr. Prince to 
dress for dinner, he was very pleased with himself. 

Financially speaking, however, there was still much 
to be done. It was one thing to pal up with the Duke, 
but it might be quite another to get on the same inti¬ 
mate terms with Mr. Cornelius Welkenberg. 

As it turned out that dinner was the greatest possi¬ 
ble success. 

And as Mr. Prince got into bed, he realized that 
his good luck was holding. 

Incidentally the drinking-cup was no longer in his 
possession. 


CHAPTER X 


Captain Ridley did not enjoy himself very much 
the next morning. 

He arrived at the Savoy Hotel well in advance of 
his time, and was shown up to Mr. Prince’s room. 
He found that young man just dressed and obviously 
on the best of good terms with himself. 

‘Well, old man, any luck?” he began eagerly 

“The best of good luck,” said Mr. Prince smiling. 

“You’ve sold it!” 

Mr. Prince had taken a small leather case from the 
dressing-table. “Here’s the money,” said he. “Ten 
jolly fivers all nice and crisp. 

He extracted the notes, and held them out. 

For a moment Captain Ridley looked puzzled. 
Then his brow cleared. “The rest in a cheque, I 
suppose ?” 

It was now Mr. Prince’s turn to look perplexed. 
“There’s £50 there,” he said, “but that’s all. That’s 
your commission, you know.” 

A queer hard expression came into Captain Ridley’s 
face. He stood there, and for a moment or two said 
nothing. He was staring into the boy’s eyes. 

“What’s the game?” he demanded at last in tones 
which were not at all pleasant. 

Mr. Prince did not seem in the least perturbed. 

96 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 97 

“Oh, you see, it was I who got rid of the cup, and 
so naturally I keep the £450 and you take the com¬ 
mission.” He was still holding out the notes. 

The elder man forced his lips to a smile. “Pm 
afraid I don't see the joke,” said he. 

Mr. Prince’s eyebrows were raised. “But it isn’t 
a joke.” 

“Then I think you’d better hand over the rest of 
the money at once, if you want to avoid trouble.” 

“Avoid trouble?” repeated the boy. “But I thought 
it was you who were trying to avoid trouble.” 

“Look here, I don’t know what you think 
you’re-” 

Mr. Prince was waving the notes. “You know,” 
he interrupted, “I must say I think you’re behaving 
very stupidly. You don’t seem to realize there’s £50 
in my hands, and I’m offering it to you. It’s a lot 
of money. Fifty whole pounds. You can do quite 
a lot with £50.” 

The Captain was obviously trying to keep his temper. 
“When I gave you my cup,” he was beginning, but 
the boy stopped him. 

“Ah, but you see, that’s just the point. The cup 
doesn’t belong to you. It never did, you know. You 
ought to have told me the truth. I’ve had to work 
fearfully hard to get rid of it. You stole it in Con¬ 
stantinople, and if I were you I wouldn’t remain in 
London much longer. I really wouldn’t. They might 
find you out. The police, I mean. The Foreign Office 
is furious with you. I happened to meet a man who 
knows all about it. The honour of the British Army 



98 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

and all that, you know. Stealing and courts mar¬ 
tial and things. Even warrants. If you take my 
advice-” 

A dark flush had appeared on the other’s face. He 
looked almost murderous. Mr. Prince thought for a 
moment that there might be a fight, in which case he 
would have an opportunity of trying that sub¬ 
lieutenant’s dodge into the secret of which he had been 
let while the King Henry had been cruising in South 
African waters. 

“You confounded little blackmailer, d’you think 
I’ll-” 

“Blackmailer!” Mr. Prince looked shocked. 
“How can I be a blackmailer? I’m not threatening 
you. I’m giving you money.” 

“You know very well what I mean, and if you 
think-” 

“Oh, but, you see, I’m in no danger at all. I’ve 
done nothing wrong. I’ve only been—well, what 
you might call cunning. Devilish cunning, I suppose 
some people would say, but I can’t get into trouble. 
They can never accuse me of stealing the cup, be¬ 
cause I never did get to Constantinople. They said 
we were to go there, but then you know how plans 
get altered at the last moment. I think I told you 
that we went to Cape Town instead. Not that I’m 
altogether sorry-” 

“Are you going to hand over the money?” 

“Why, of course I am,” replied Mr. Prince smiling. 
“Here it is. There’s no reason to be angry. Here’s 
£50, and I keep on telling you-” 







THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 99 

“If you don’t hand over the rest-” 

“Oh, but I can’t afford to give you any more,” 
interrupted Mr. Prince, speaking very quickly. 
“You see, when it’s a question of business, one can’t 
always do exactly what one wants.” 

“See here,” said Captain Ridley in a queer kind of 
whisper, “I’ve had about enough of this fooling. You 
may think yourself devilish cunning, but two can play 
at that game. Either you give me the rest of my 
money, or-” 

“A fight?” cried Mr. Prince hopefully. “A fight 
in the Savoy Hotel? How ripping! But oughtn’t I 
to get in the reporters? But, seriously, I don’t think 
we’d better have a fight. Something, I expect, would 
get smashed, and they’d kick up an awful fuss and 
make us pay damages. You’d better take the £50^ and 
say nothing more. Then nobody need know any¬ 
thing, need they? Of course I shan’t give you away 
to the police, and I don’t suppose the Foreign Office 
will worry you very much, because I think I’ve made 
it all right for you with them. I said I thought you 
had probably gone back to Turkey. And we shall 
both of us have got something out of it, shan’t we?” 
he added sweetly. 

Captain Ridley’s hands were clenched. There was 
no question about it; he was in a terrible rage. He 
wanted to smash the face of this innocent-looking 
youngster who had played him such a scoundrelly 
trick. And yet with a great effort he restrained him¬ 
self. Perhaps there was something about Mr. Prince’s 
athletic figure which made him pause; perhaps that 




100 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


casual mention of a warrant stopped him. He stood 
still for a moment or two, shaking with anger. Then 
he rushed towards the boy, seized hold of the notes, 
thrust them hurriedly into his pocket, and walked to 
the door. 

“If you think you can cheat me like this,” he 
cried hoarsely, “you’ll very soon find out your mis¬ 
take. You can get fifteen years for this. I’m not 
going to let the matter rest here.” He broke out into 
a torrent of abuse, and went. 

Mr. Prince smiled quietly to himself. Quite a re¬ 
spectable display of language. Ashley would have 
enjoyed it. But it was really rather disappointing 
to think that he had seen the last of Captain John 
Ridley. That story of Dowlat Effendi and Damad 
Pasha had been quite a good effort. Perhaps its 
teller really would go back to Turkey. The £50 would 
certainly be sufficient to pay his fare. On the other 
hand the Turkish authorities might not be very pleased 
to see him. 

Yes, quite a good story. 

And it was being the j oiliest possible adventure. 

Four hundred and fifty pounds! Added to the 
money which had already been banked, it made up 
a quite respectable sum. The nucleus, in fact, of 
what ought to be a nice little fortune. Soon he would 
have to be thinking of investments. Money in a 
bank, even on deposit, was a bit of a waste. Well, 
he would have to look about him. Good advice would 
be wanted. Who- 

Mr. Cornelius Welkbenberg might be of assistance. 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 101 


Eight per cent at least. 

And eight per cent on—what was it?—nearly six 

hundred pounds- 

He looked at his watch. 

Good. He was just in nice time. In another five 
minutes he was due to go out with the Duke of 
Kirkaldy. 



CHAPTER XI 


Telegrams did not come very often to the little 
house in a side street in Bournsea. Even more rarely 
did they come for Mr. Waynflete. A very long one, 
however, arrived, addressed to John Waynflete 
Esquire, about a week after Mr. Prince had gone up 
for the second time to London. 

The old gentleman was alone in the house when it 
arrived, and he read it, standing at the open door, 
and stared blankly at the telegraph boy. 

“Any answer, sir?” 

Answer? Of course there was an answer. A very 
decided answer—in the negative. But he must have 
time to compose it. “Not at the moment, thank 
you,” he managed to say, and went back to his own 
room. 

It was really preposterous. And impertinent. The 
boy must have gone off his head. And the extrava¬ 
gance of it all! A telegram which filled two whole 
pages! 

“I shall do nothing of the sort,” he said aloud, and 
from the firmness of his tones you might have thought 
that he had already come to a fixed decision. 

Go to London at once with a bundle of clothes 
and- 


102 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 103 

It was the grossest impertinence even to suggest 
such a thing. And yet- 

Mr. Waynflete read through the telegram once 
again. 

“Luck holding should like you here four hundred 
pounds to bank come at once Savoy Hotel dress 
clothes will meet train Waterloo six-five to-day most 
urgent please bring three pairs white flannel trousers 
bottom drawer also cap in hall white shoes my great 
coat also peaked cap stay one night am off to-morrow 
you must come will pay all exes bring sweater in 
cupboard tell mother things going well Oliver.” 

What on earth did it mean? And who in his 
senses supposed that he, John Waynflete, was going 
to rush up to London for a night merely to satisfy 
a boyish whim? He was far too old for that sort 
of thing. 

“Of course I shan’t go,” he said, addressing his 
pipe. “I’ve never heard of such a thing in my life.” 

For all that, hardly ten minutes had passed before 
Mr. Waynflete was in a state of the greatest excite¬ 
ment. He was not going to London, of course, but 
what fun it would be if he were to decide to go! 
That young rascal was up to one of his tricks, and 
had made money again. Well, he was not going to 
allow the boy to make a fool of him again. . . . He 
hadn’t had a holiday for years. Not a real holiday. 

And Mrs. Prince- Well, she would have to be 

shown the telegram, and what would she say? She 




104 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

might want him to go. But—go to London at a 
minute’s notice? It was not to be thought of. And 
—white trousers? 

His curiosity was increasing. What could the boy 
have been doing? 

“It’s ridiculous,” said he, “I shan’t think of going.” 

And then Mrs. Prince came in and was shown her 
son’s message, and was immediately in a state of the 
most terrible anxiety. Her worry, however, con¬ 
cerned neither Oliver’s well-being nor Mr. Wayn- 
flete’s possible objections to the proposed journey to 
London. No, she was afraid lest one of the three 
pairs of white trousers might not be clean. As it 
happened, her fears were ill-founded, and by two 
o’clock Mr. Waynflete, to his own great amazement, 
found that all the necessary preparations had been 
made for his immediate departure. And as he was 
driven off to the station with a large bag which con¬ 
tained not only his own things but every one of the 
articles of clothing for which Oliver had asked, he 
was in a state of bewilderment, which lasted until the 
express rolled into Waterloo Station. 

Here he was in London, after a ten years’ absence, 
an unwilling visitor, and—why? To hand over a few 
clothes to a boy! It was certainly the most prepos¬ 
terous thing he had ever done in his life. Oliver 
would have to be spoken to very seriously. To expect 
an old man- 

Mr. Prince, looking exceedingly smart, was on the 
platform to meet him. He smiled, and shook hands, 
and ordered a porter to put Mr. Waynflete’s bag on 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 105 

a taxi. He asked after his mother, hoped that all 
the things mentioned in his telegram had been found, 
and apologized for putting Mr. Waynflete to any 
trouble. 

“But I thought you might enjoy coming up,” said 
he, “and Pve so much to do myself-” 

“But, Oliver, I can’t understand-” 

Even now the old boy could not understand what 
had caused him to break the habit of years, and dash 
off to London with no fixed idea as to what he was 
going to do. 

“You come along, Mr. Waynflete. I’ve got a 
very curious story to tell you. And you’re going to 
meet the Esmondes—they’ve asked you to dinner to¬ 
night—and the Duke of Kirkaldy. And—0I1, I tell 
you, you’re going to enjoy yourself. And to-morrow 
I’ll give you the money, and we shall have to discuss 
what’s to be done with it, and I’m not at all sure that 
we oughtn’t to move into a larger house. You 
see-” 

For the next hour Mr. Waynflete’s bewilderment 
grew. He was taken to the Savoy Hotel, and shown 
into a luxurious bedroom, and given a cigar, and 
forced into a chair, and for some considerable time 
was unable to learn either the real object of his visit 
or exactly what had been happening to the boy. 
Oliver, he thought, for all his cool acceptance of these 
unaccustomed splendours, did not explain himself too 
clearly. 

“You’re so vague, my dear boy,” he complained, 
and forgot that he was not going to allow himself to 





io 6 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

be fooled again. He had managed to piece together 
one or two incidents of what seemed to be a 
wholly impossible story, but that was all. “Your 
telegram-” 

“But what don’t you understand? We haven’t 
much time, by the way, because we shall have to be 
dressing for dinner. We mustn’t be late. You’ll like 
the Esmondes,” he added. “They’re the jolliest people 
in London.” 

“Yes, yes, I shall be delighted to meet them, though 
I haven’t worn my dress clothes for years. But be¬ 
fore we go out, I want to understand what has hap¬ 
pened. This cup you were talking about. Some man 
gave it you to sell, and offered you a commission, and 
you say Mr. Esmonde told you the true story of how 
it had come into the man’s possession ? But 
how-” 

“Yes, Mr. Esmonde could hardly believe his ears 
when he heard me mention it. I really don’t know 
why I did, but it’s lucky I did, because, you see, the 
Foreign Office had been looking everywhere for it. 
They knew it had been stolen by a British officer at 
the time of the armistice. In fact there had been 
an awful row and inquiries and things, but they 
could never prove that this man Ridley was the thief, 
though he had been suspected. The G.O.C., Mr. 
Esmonde told me, had had to go to the Sultan about 
it—oh, and he’d sent cables, and the Foreign Office 
was in a fearful stew; prestige of the Army and all 
that sort of thing. And so, of course, I wasn’t going 
to let the man get £450.” 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 107 

“Naturally not, but I still don’t understand. You 
can’t have . . . Oliver, you . . . Oliver!” 

Mr. Prince looked up in surprise. 

“You mean to tell me you sold this cup, knowing 
it to be stolen, and then kept nine-tenths of the pro¬ 
ceeds by—by blackmailing the thief?” 

Mr. Prince seemed a trifle uncomfortable. The 
old gentleman had risen up and was standing almost 
threateningly over him. 

“I say, Mr. Waynflete, you do put things in such 
a horrid way. He called it blackmail himself, but 
surely he deserved all-” 

“Oliver, I can’t make you out. You don’t seem 
to realize what you’ve done. It seems to me a good 
thing I’ve come up. To fetch you home,” he added 
gloomily. “It doesn’t look as if you can be trusted. 
Oh, I don’t care a straw about this wretched fellow; 
it’s you I’m concerned about. You knew the cup had 
been stolen.” 

“Well, but that was just the point, you see. It 
wasn’t like stealing a thing from a London shop. 
This was a Turkish cup, and Ridley took it while the 
Turks were still legally our enemies. That was all 
bunkbum—what I said about a warrant, though of 
course he didn’t know it. It was really only a diplo¬ 
matic question, which was why I spoke to the Duke 
of Kirkaldy about it. He didn’t want to buy, as I 
was telling you, but the Welkenbergs-” 

“I don’t care whom you sold it to,” shouted Mr. 
Waynflete. “You’ve behaved disgracefully. I can’t 
think-” 





io 8 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


“But I gave that £50 to Ridley.” 

“That doesn’t make things any better. You know 
perfectly well that, morally speaking, it wasn’t yours 
to give.” 

“Oh, but it was. In fact Mr. Esmonde told me 
I should be justified in keeping the £50 myself.” 

The old gentleman had stepped back, and was 
looking at the boy in a puzzled way. 

“Yes, you see, the Foreign Office people were so 
keen to get the cup back to Turkey that they’d de¬ 
cided to offer a reward. The £50 was that reward. 
Mr. Esmonde gave me the money in notes.” 

“But I thought- You told me you’d sold the 

cup to this American or-” 

“Oh no, Mr. Waynflete, I didn’t. You see, you 
will keep on interrupting a fellow. I was trying to 
explain what had happened, when you started to talk 
about blackmail and things. Naturally I didn’t try 
to sell the cup. I gave it to Mr. Esmonde. In fact 
he came here just before lunch to fetch it. And he 
brought me the money, too. They hadn’t actually 
advertised the reward then, but the Treasury people 
sanctioned it, and so of course it came to me. Ten 
new fivers.” 

Mr. Waynflete had allowed his cigar to go out. 
He lit a match with a trembling hand, and sat down 
again in his chair. “Then perhaps you’ll be good 
enough to explain how you got this four hundred 
pounds or whatever it is which your telegram 
mentioned.” 

“Oh, that,” said Mr. Prince, “well, that’s some- 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 109 

thing different altogether. I hadn’t come to that at 
all. You see, I thought you would want to hear 
about the cup first and Ridley’s beautiful story. The 

other money-” He smiled to himself. “You 

didn’t think it cheek of me, Mr. Waynflete, asking you 
to come up?” 

Mr. Waynflete put a hand in front of his mouth. 
“Go on,” he ordered. “I’m here now. I want to 
know-” 

“But I don’t want you to think- You see, if 

it hadn’t been for this other business, I should never 
have wired.” 

“Well, what is it? Tell me. You seem to take 
pleasure in trying to mystify me.” 

Mr. Prince grinned. “It is rather jolly,” he ad¬ 
mitted. “You get so fearfully-” 

“I don’t want any more of your jokes, Master 
Oliver.” Mr. Waynflete had assumed an air of great 
sternness. Once again he had been fooled, and he 
was conscious of relief, but his dignity demanded 
that there should be no recurrence. “I want to know 
how you’ve come by this very large sum of money.” 

“Well, you see, I had to get it somehow, hadn’t 
I? That’s what I came up to London for. I could 
have kept that £50, but I remembered that if it 
hadn’t been for Ridley, I shouldn’t have heard any¬ 
thing about a reward. So I thought the poor devil 
might as well have it. But it was rather a nuisance 
giving up a whole fifty that you’d really earned, and 
I can tell you I was pretty sick about it all. If the 
cup had been mine, I might have got £450. That’s 






no THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


what I couldn’t help thinking of. It’s beastly, Mr. 
Waynflete, isn’t it? not having things of your own 
to sell. And then, you know, I had the most wonder¬ 
ful Idea. I do get Ideas sometimes. I expect it’s 
having been in the Navy. I kept on saying to my¬ 
self that I’d get that £450 somehow, and all of a 
sudden I saw how to do it. I was with the Welken- 
bergs at the time. They’re extraordinarily rich, you 
know. Much richer than any of our millionaires. 
Four or five hundred means nothing to them. Well, 
the Idea was this. The Welkenbergs, I knew, wanted 
to meet the Duke of Kirkaldy. They wanted most 
frightfully to meet him. And I thought, well, why 
shouldn’t they, and—er, pay me for the introduction. 
Mrs. Welkenberg had actually asked me to introduce 
her. I remembered seeing in the papers advertise¬ 
ments of people who were prepared to introduce people 
into society for a fee.” 

Mr. Waynflete was chuckling. “You young 
rogue!” 

“Yes, well, you have to make money these days 
in all sorts of ways. And I told them what was 
perfectly true. I said I didn’t think the Duke wanted 
to meet anybody because he was only up in London 
for a few days on business, from his yacht. I said 
I expected to be going on the yacht myself in a little 
while. And then, well, you know, it was really 
rather odd, but we talked a whole lot, and they asked 
me all sorts of questions and found out I hadn’t any 
money, and finally—you wouldn’t believe it, Mr. 
Waynflete, but Mrs. Welkenberg asked me straight out 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE in 


whether I thought I could arrange things so that she 
and her husband should spend a few days with the 
Duke on his yacht?” 

“Lord help us!” said the old gentleman, “what 
next ?” 

“She did. And she didn’t seem to think there 
was anything funny in it. I expect they often do that 
sort of thing in America. She told me, you see, that 
she wanted the news put in the Chicago papers—I 
mean, that the Welkenbergs had been on the Duke’s 
yacht. Sort of social advertisement or something of 
that kind. They’re funny, these rich Americans, but 
that was what they wanted, and Mr. Esmonde tells 
me that it often happens that an American millionarie 
will get into American society by getting to know 
dukes and people like that over here. Well, and Mr. 
Welkenberg”—Mr. Prince was smiling at the recol¬ 
lection—“he offered me anything I liked, if I could 
fix things up. Anything I liked, Mr. Waynflete!” 

“Yes, well, and what then?” 

“So of course I went straight off to the Duke, 
and got him into a good temper—you can get people 
into a good temper, you know, if you go about things 
in the right way—and began talking about Americans, 
and told him I’d been seeing a good deal of the Wel¬ 
kenbergs, and finally blurted out what they’d said. 
Yes, I did. I told the old boy they were quite jolly 
people who wanted to know him and I told him they’d 
promised me anything I asked for if I’d get him to 
take them a short cruise on his yacht. I said I should 
ask £450, and told him why—all about the cup, I 


112 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


mean, and I also said they were just the sort of people 
he ought to be friendly with because they’d probably 
buy all his gold things at the most enormous prices, 
as they weren’t dealers. And he roared with laughter, 
and agreed. He’s a jolly good sort. Of course I 
don’t expect he’d have done it for most people, but 
I think he likes me, and when a fellow likes you, he’ll 
do a good deal. Well, so I introduced them, and we 
all had dinner together, and I got Mr. Welkenberg 
into a corner, and began talking, and I plucked up 
courage at last, and asked for £450. I said it was 
a very large sum for an introduction, but then I 
pointed out that the Duke wasn’t accustomed to doing 
things of that kind as he was related to Royalty, and 
it was only because we were such good pals, and 

I’d been done out of a good deal of money- Oh, 

I tell you, I talked to him like a father. And, you 
know, I think the Welkenbergs like me too. It stands 
to reason they wouldn’t have given me all that money 
if they hadn’t. Yes, he gave it me, Mr. Waynflete, 
there and then. Wrote out a cheque!” 

“Well, my boy, if you’d told me a week ago that 
such things were possible-” 

“Oh,” interrupted the boy in his airiest manner, 
“if you’ve been in the Navy you can do a whole lot 
of interesting things on shore. And now, of course, 
you see why I wanted you here. I’ve got the cheque 
in my pocket, and we all go off to-morrow. But I 
must be decently dressed on board, and it didn’t seem 
worth while buying a lot of new kit when I had it at 
home. So as I wanted you to meet Mr. Esmonde and 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 113 

—er, Doris, the daughter, well, you see what I mean. 
Mother, I knew, wouldn’t want to come up. And— 
hullo, it’s time to dress. I’d better go. Aren’t you 
glad you’ve come? You’ll love the Esmondes. And 
one of these days, you know,” he added thoughtfully, 
“I shouldn’t be surprised if I got married.” 

“God bless my soul!” said the old gentleman. 


CHAPTER XII 


Mr. Waynflete’s very brief visit to London—it 
lasted no more than eighteen hours—long remained 
in his memory. It became a sort of landmark. 
Henceforth he ceased to look upon Oliver as a clever 
attractive boy who periodically deserved a scolding. 
Very definitely his old friend’s son was taking his 
place as Head of the Family: and a most unusual 
Head into the bargain. 

There was something about him which demanded 
—respect. 

At the same time a word of advice now and then 
might be helpful. Mr. Waynflete determined to offer 
it whenever a chance presented itself. 

On his visit, however, he had little opportunity. 
He had, indeed, small time to think very clearly of 
anything at all. He was rushed hither and thither. 
He had hardly put on his dress clothes before he 
was being hurriedly presented to a Chicago million¬ 
aire who for some reason or other called him Pro¬ 
fessor. Then he was rushed to the rooms of a red- 
bearded man who turned out to be the Duke of 
Kirkaldy. He was given a cocktail, and felt agree¬ 
ably abandoned. Then, when he was allowed to sit 
quietly with Oliver for a few moments, he could not 
help noticing that people were staring at the boy. 

114 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 115 

Well, Oliver, he realized, was really rather hand¬ 
some. It was amusing to sit here and- 

He was whirled away to Chelsea in a car, and for 
the first time for long years dined in state. And his 
amazement grew. Here, surely, was an Oliver about 
whom he knew nothing at all: no longer the youngster 
who loved practical jokes, but a young man of the 
world with excellent manners and a fund of small talk. 
It was impossible to doubt that he had been doing 
this sort of thing every night of his life. And yet in 
the little house in Bournsea- 

Mr. Waynflete refused to think of the past: the 
future was so much more attractive. And in a very 
short while he found himself prepared to give Mrs. 
Prince a detailed description of a very pretty girl with 
whom Oliver seemed to be on extremely intimate 
terms. It was absurd, of course, but undeniably 
charming. 

Oliver—married ? 

Well, some day. . . . 

The champagne was entirely to his liking. The 
years rolled away, and allowed him temporarily to 
re-assume those social qualities which a former Lord 
Oxney had appreciated so much. He talked well, 
and Oliver, hiding his surprise—who could have ex¬ 
pected the old boy to blossom out in this way? 1 —was 
proud of the “lodger.” 

The evening in fact was a great success, and when 
the two young people went off into the billiard-room, 
Mr. Waynflete expressed his great satisfaction. He 
also sought Mr. Esmonde’s opinion about the boy’s 




n6 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

future. Oliver, he declared, was bound to get on, 
but—what did Mr. Esmonde think of his present ir¬ 
regular mode of earning a living ? Surely this fortui¬ 
tous acquisition of fees would not do. 

Mr. Esmonde agreed. 

“I must have a serious talk with the boy.” 

‘‘I think it would be a very good thing,” said Mr. 
Esmonde. 

And so at midnight Mr. Waynflete endeavoured to 
draw a picture of the joys of a regular profession. 
It was all very well to pick up rewards in this hap¬ 
hazard way, but no one could hope- 

Mr. Prince did not allow him to proceed very far. 
“Yes,” said he, “but Eve got an Idea about that, too. 
But it’s got to—er, to—what’s the word? the thing 
that wines and cigars have to do.” 

“Mature?” suggested the old gentleman. 

Yes, that was it. The Idea would have to mature, 
and it was going to mature on board the Duke’s yacht. 

And for the next few days it may be said to have 
done so. Mr. Prince spent a happy week on board, and 
made friends with the Skipper, and had the satisfaction 
of observing that the Duke and his two guests from 
Chicago got on very well together. 

Incidentally he posted off five letters, all very long, to 
Chelsea, and a short note to Mr. Waynflete. 

The long letters, he learnt later, had given the 
greatest satisfaction. 

The short note was rather puzzling to its recipient. 
It asked for precise information as to the best book for 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 117 

a beginner on English Portrait Painting. A reply was 
to be sent to the Savoy Hotel. . . . 

One warm evening, ten days later, Mr. Prince was 
strolling along Piccadilly. He wore an exceedingly 
smart dinner jacket and a new silk hat. It was nearly 
ten o’clock, and for the last half-hour he had been try¬ 
ing unsuccessfully to make up his mind to return to 
his hotel. 

He had spent a fairly strenuous day. He had 
reached London the previous afternoon with the 
Welkenbergs, who had suddenly decided to rent a 
Sussex castle for the autumn and had motored away 
an hour after their arrival. He was delighted to find 
waiting for him not only a letter from Chelsea but 
also a volume which Mr. Waynflete had found in his 
small library and forwarded on as a gift. The Idea 
by this time had thoroughly matured, and Mr. Prince 
lost more than two hours of sleep reading the book. 
At an early hour this morning, moreover, he had 
begun a series of explorations. He had wandered 
forth to various picture galleries, and spoken to grave 
gentlemen whose duty it was to “keep” these pictures 
for the public’s delectation, and paid a visit to the 
Casdagli Brothers, the well-known art-dealers in Bond 
Street. After luncheon he had been driven to Hert¬ 
ford House, and looked in at half a dozen shops 
where only the most expensive antiques were sold. 
And all the while he had been imbibing new knowledge. 

He had hoped to dine in Chelsea, but most regret¬ 
tably the Esmonds were engaged. And so he had 


n8 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


dined alone, and sauntered out, and watched the people 
about him, and thought a great deal about pictures—in 
particular about those portraits which fetched such 
very large prices when they came into the market. 

Now it must be admitted that Mr. Prince was not 
especially thrilled by old portraits, but he had become 
aware that many other people were: so thrilled, in¬ 
deed, that they were prepared to pay ridiculously large 
sums of money to obtain them. Mr. Welkenberg, for 
instance. . . . And the sale of a portrait of that kind 
inevitably carried with it a handsome commission. 

Therein of course lay the new Idea. 

People who sold these things on commission made 
unbelievably large fortunes. They were able to buy 
country houses and motor-cars. Sometimes they were 
even knighted, though why they should be knighted 
Mr. Prince did not know. But it really did seem as 
though selling pictures was about the easiest way to 
make money—if you knew the right people, and Mr. 
Prince saw no reason at all why he should not play 
a part in the business. Obviously there were diffi¬ 
culties—you could not expect to become what was 
called an expert in a day—but what he might lack 
in artistic knowledge was going to be balanced by that 
devilish cunning of his which these rich dealers most 
probably lacked. 

This evening, however, he was being forced to con¬ 
fess that these difficuties might prove to be even 
greater than he had supposed. Mr. Welkenberg had 
not been too definite about the sort of picture he 
wanted, but he had said that in the event of an his- 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 119 

torical portrait by a first-class painter coming up for 
sale, he would be prepared to offer a good price. 

Therefore an historical portrait by a first-class 
painter would have to be found. 

Well, there were hundreds of them about; but— 
in every case the dealers had already stepped into 
the business. 

And where the dealers were concerned- 

The Duke of Kirkaldy and Captain Ridley had 
been right. Dealers were a wholly unpleasant race 
of beings, with whom it was impossible to become 
friends. They were charming so long as they be¬ 
lieved you to be a rich buyer, but extraordinarily 
beastly if they discovered your real intentions. 

Where, then, was an historical portrait of which 
the dealers knew nothing at all, to be found? 

Not in Piccadilly. 

Mr. Prince lit a cigarette. Neither in Piccadilly 
nor anywhere else was he likely to find a portrait at 
this time of night. Therefore he would go straight 
home to the Savoy Hotel. 

He turned, and his attention was immediately di¬ 
rected to a young man attired like himself, whose 
behaviour was sufficiently odd. For after apparently 
making an earnest attempt to walk through a plate- 
glass window at the end of St. James’s Arcade, the 
young man seemed eager to swim on the pavement. 
Then, finding this method of propulsion unsatisfac¬ 
tory, he began to climb the iron gates. 

Mr. Prince did not stop to think. He entirely for¬ 
got that he had been looking for an historical por- 



120 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

trait. Here was something much more exciting. 
He dashed across the road, caught hold of the young 
man’s coat, and dragged him away into a neighbour¬ 
ing doorway. 

“You ass,” said he struggling, “the police’ll be 
certain to- Oh, my aunt, if it isn’t Lavinia!” 

He chuckled. Here, very drunk, and inclined to 
be very disorderly, was the Honourable Lavery 
Doune, whose ladylike manners and general incom¬ 
petence in the King Henry had earned him his nick¬ 
name—a poor weakling who ought never to have 
gone into the Navy. 

The young man was staring foolishly at his captor. 

“Drunk,” he mumbled, “but it’s las’ time, abs’lutely 
las’. ’Volver in pocket.” Then he smiled. “ ’Mem¬ 
ber you. Snottie. Ashley. No, not Ashley. Prince. 
Tha’ ’s your name. Prince. Good ol’ Prince. Goo’ 
pal.” He began to weep. 

Mr. Prince was a man of action. He took hold of 
the young man, and without another word un¬ 
ceremoniously propelled him up a side street. This 
was not the first occasion on which he had come to 
the Honourable Lavery’s assistance. On the high 
seas it had needed all his cunning to prevent the chap 
from receiving very serious punishment. Now, it 
seemed, he was being called on to play the same part 
again. He was not quite sure that he had ever liked 
Lavinia very much, but the fellow certainly couldn’t 
be left to look after himself in this state, and- 

A taxicab passed. With a nod Mr. Prince engaged 
it. 





THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 121 


“Where do you live?” he demanded, as he half- 
pushed, half-lifted the wretched youth into the cab. 

A reply was mechanically given, and they drove off 
to Mount Street. 

“A sort of adventure,” thought Mr. Prince, as the 
cab turned into Berkeley Street. He had just suc¬ 
ceeded in extracting a revolver from Mr. Doune’s 
pocket. 

And he did not know that once again the Fates 
had been kind. 


CHAPTER XIII 


The Honourable Lavery Doune’s flat was a truly 
magnificent place. It contained nine or ten rooms. 
The drawing-room was large and suggested an old 
country house rather than a flat in Mayfair. The 
walls were panelled, and the furniture was square and 
solid. Also there were pictures. In particular there 
was one over the mantlepiece—the portrait of a 
mournful youth in blue satin—which instantly re¬ 
minded Mr. Prince of an illustration in Mr. Wayn- 
flete’s book. The bedrooms, too, were luxurious. 
One was oak-panelled and its bed a four-poster, and 
another had an ideal bathroom in marble attached 
to it. 

And all this magnificence belonged to a fellow who 
had been carrying a loaded revolver in his pocket! 

Some girl or other, Mr. Prince supposed, was re¬ 
sponsible, and he wondered who the youth in blue 
satin might have been. 

With the help of a taciturn valet he succeeded in 
undressing the Honourable Lavery, who after being 
violently ill became suddenly sober, and burst into 
tears again. 

“Prince, will you see if you can help me? I know 
I’m a fool, but—it seems like Providence meeting you 

to-night. I don’t know-” 

122 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


123 


“Help you? I don’t expect I can help you.” 

“Well, but, Prince, I’ve no one to go to.” 

Mr. Prince found the fellow’s sobs very upsetting. 
“I’ll help if I can,” he promised. 

“Thanks, old chap, you’re a real friend. You 
know, I meant—I meant to end everything,” he con¬ 
fided, as he lay in his bed, an ashamed untidy crea¬ 
ture. “I don’t know what’d have happened, if you 
hadn’t turned up. And—I say!—it’s the second 
time you’ve come to the rescue!” He looked more 
sheepish than ever. 

Mr. Prince’s face assumed a stern look suited to 
a very senior naval officer called on to administer 
martial law. “You’d better tell me the whole story,” 
he said. 

Whereupon Mr. Doune made an attempt to de¬ 
scribe his numerous misfortunes. They were in no 
wise unusual. She was called Phyllis, and was on 
the stage. She was exquisitely beautiful, and a really 
good actress—if only they’d give her a decent chance, 

though even in the chorus- Everybody had to 

begin in the chorus, hadn’t they? And her people 
were real decent sorts. Respectable and all that. 
She’d had a good education. High school. And her 
hair: it was fair, the most wonderful hair- 

With a memory of another young lady’s hair in 
his mind Mr. Prince cut short the description of 
Phyllis’s multiple charms. “What happened?” he 
demanded. 

Well, it seemed that Miss Phyllis w,as very ex¬ 
travagant, and on occasions her temper was awful. 




124 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“Terrific,” said Mr. Doune, and looked wearily up 
at his visitor. “You wouldn’t believe what she’s like 
when—well, I mean, when things don’t go exactly as 

she likes. I can’t understand a girl- Of course 

these managers are enough to make anybody angry, 

but still- And then, don’t you see, there’s this 

business at Mason’s Club. You can’t expect-” 

“Mason’s Club?” 

Mason’s Club, it appeared, was an extremely ex¬ 
clusive Club in St. James’s Place, where play was 
high. Mr. Doune was a member. Mr. Doune had 
always been fond of cards, and usually enjoyed the 
best of luck. Anybody would tell Prince that he 
usually held the most wonderful cards. But of 

late- He wasn’t of course bewailing his luck: 

naturally you expected to have runs of bad luck now 
and then. But last week his own luck had been so 
infernally, so unbelievably, so impossibly bad that he 
had almost come to the conclusion that somebody had 
—well, Mr. Prince would know what he meant. Not 
playing fair. In fact, cheating. 

Cheating at Mason’s of all places! 

It wasn’t a nice sort of thing to have to say, but 
—really, what could you think when a man like Henry 
Ryde won seventy- 

But Mr. Doune had done with Mason’s Club. 
Sent in his resignation. Mason’s Club was going to 
the dogs. 

“Don’t you ever go near it,” advised the Honour¬ 
able Lavery. “I’m telling you.” 

“Yes, well, you lost money. And what then?” 







THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 125 

“You see, my dear fellow, it wouldn’t have mat¬ 
tered so much, if I hadn’t just had the most frightful 
week at Newmarket.” 

There came a pause. 

So it seemed that even the people whom Mr. Prince 
had most envied on account of their wealth, could 
have finanical troubles much worse than his own. 
It was rather queer. He looked at the miserable 
figure in bed, and thought of that day in the King 
Henry when another tale of woe had been poured 
into his ears. “Well?” said he. 

Well, as the only son of a rich peer well known to 
all the world as a great sportsman—here Mr. Prince 
nodded: he knew that Lord Bellchester had twice won 
the Derby—Mr. Doune, in his own view at any rate, 
might have expected an allowance more than suffi¬ 
cient for his needs. But in point of fact he had had 
next to nothing. And so of course when New¬ 
market had failed him, and Sir Henry Ryde had so 
unmercifully rooked him, money had had to be 
raised, first from an aunt and then from the Jews. 
He admitted that his father had twice paid his debts 
—on the second occasion, however, only after the 
most solemn promise on his part never to gamble 
again or raise one penny piece from the Jews. You 
would have thought that a man like his guv’nor would 
have helped him with his bets; but no, the old boy 
had got it into his head that his son knew nothing 
about horseflesh and never would. Mr. Doune had 
meant to keep his word—absolutely—but just at that 
moment Phyllis had been extraordinarily difficult, and 


126 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


—well, he had had to have more money, and so tried 
his luck once again at Mason’s, and lost—rather 
heavily, as it happened, and Jacobs was threatening 
him, and to crown all, Phyllis had practically chucked 
him for some Major or other who had thousands a 
year of his own and a face like a diseased pumpkin. 

“Jacobs!” repeated Mr. Prince, and wondered 
where Lady Oxney and Mr. Elton might be at this 
moment. 

Mr. Doune’s face was showing his disgust. It was 
difficult, he continued, to make clear his exact posi¬ 
tion, but he had to find £400* by the following Mon¬ 
day, and was so desperate that he had even thought 
of forging his father’s name or cheating at cards. 
“So you can guess,” he finished, “what sort of a time 
I’ve been having. Jacobs swears he’ll tell my father 
if I don’t pay by Monday and that means—no more 
allowance. In fact the old boy told me last time I 
could go to the devil if it happened again. Oh, you 
know what it is. I must have the money or . . . 
And I’ve no one to go to. My aunt—she’s the 
Duchess of Belton and as rich as they make ’em— 
doesn’t come back to England until the end of next 
week. I don’t know where she is. It’s the most 
absolute mess. I want-” 

He buried his face in his hands. 

Mr. Prince was staring at a chair. He was not 
altogether surprised, and yet how odd it was to find 
a fellow surrounded by all this luxury, old portraits 
and all the rest of it, the next Lord Bellchester, pressed 
for money! 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 127 

“Look here,” he began, “if your aunt is coming 
home next week-” 

“But, Jacobs, don’t you see, won’t wait a day 
longer. He’s the very devil when he’s got you in his 
clutches.” 

Mr. Prince nodded. He thought that he under¬ 
stood Mr. Jacobs well enough. There followed a little 
pause. It hardly seemed possible that he would be 
able to afford Lavinia any assistance, and yet already 
at the back of his mind a vague kind of Idea was 
taking root. Four hundred pounds was a large sum 
of money. And even if it could be procured, was 
—well, was Lavinia to be trusted to pay off his debts 
with it? He could not forget what had happened in 
the King Henry. Ashley had called him a fool. 
Ashley had never liked Lavinia at all. 

“But supposing,” he said suddenly, “you had the 
£400, how do you know your aunt would pay up when 
she returns?” 

An eager look came into the Honourable Lavery’s 
eyes. 

“Oh, she’s fond of me,” he said, “and I think 
I could explain things to her. She’s a bit of a sport. 
Goes exploring. Africa and all that. And she thinks 
my guv’nor ought to give me more than he does. 
She told me so. Oh yes, my aunt’s all right. She 
gave me a hundred on my last birthday. Why— 
d’you think—Prince, d’you think you could raise me 
this £400 somehow?” 

There came another pause, much longer than the 
last. Mr. Prince lit a cigarette. 



128 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


“I could get it,” he said at last, “if there was any 
real security; but, you see, your aunt isn’t here, and 
she might not pay up-” 

“Oh, but I tell you she’d do anything I asked her.” 

Mr. Prince was shaking his head. “It’s no good,” 
said he, “unless you’ve got something as security.” 

“But what have I got?” 

Mr. Prince was watching a smoke-ring. “This flat 
belong to your father?” he asked casually. 

Mr. Doune looked sharply at him. “More or less,” 
he admitted. “Why?” 

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter then.” 

“But I say, you know, some of the things are mine. 

I could-” He was sitting up in his bed now. 

“What about the Romney? Over the mantelpiece in 
the other room. It’s worth I don’t know what. 
Wouldn’t that do for security?” 

“If it were yours.” 

The Honourable Lavery seemed to be finding it 
hot. He brushed his hair back from his forehead. 
“But it is mine, you see. That’s—that’s why it’s 
here and not in the country. It belonged to my 
mother, and it’s—don’t you see, it’s a portrait of her 
great-grandfather, Sir Robert Anselm. I couldn’t sell 
it, of course, but wouldn’t it do for security?” 

Mr. Prince stared. “If it’s yours, why can’t you 
sell it?” 

“Oh, because—well, there’d be an unholy row. 
Sort of heirloom and all that.” 

“I see.” Mr. Prince was thinking hard. The 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 129 

Idea was becoming slightly more concrete. It was 
a very bold Idea, and if it were to come to anything, 
the most extreme cunning would be necessary. And 
yet—why not? Wasn’t the name of Sir Robert 
Anselm somehow familiar to him? Surely! And 
why was he thinking of his grandfather? But of 
course! The history books mentioned this man. Sir 
Robert Anselm had been somebody of importance. 
A Prime Minister or something of that kind. And 
Romney? Nobody could deny that Romney was a 
first-class painter. People paid colossal prices for his 
work. Then this portrait might- 

“I say, Prince, let’s go into the other room and 
have a look at it. Come along. I feel no end better.” 

They went into the drawing-room, and Mr. Prince 
gazed up at the portrait. ‘'A pity,” he remarked, 
“it isn’t a woman. Romney’s women fetch so much 
more than his men.” 

Mr. Doune, wrapping his dressing-gown closely 
about him, looked into the other’s face. “You know 
something about pictures, then?” 

“Not very much, but enough to know that.” 

“But in any case it would be worth more than four 
hundred pounds?” 

“Yes, if it’s the original.” 

“Shows you don’t know much if you think it’s a 
copy, old man.” 

“I don’t think anything of the kind. I was only 
saying-” 

“Well, you can take my word-” He stopped, 





1 3 0 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

looked up at the portrait, and then at Mr. Prince. 
“If I could get a copy made/’ he said slowly, “I 
wouldn’t mind selling the original.” 

“But if your aunt stumps up?” 

“I mean, if she didn’t.” 

Mr. Prince looked at him coolly. “If you let me 
have that portrait as security,” he said, “I’ll lend you 
£400 to-morrow myself. I’ve been having a bit of 
luck lately.” 

(Had he really said it? Had he, Oliver Prince, 
actually offered to hand over £400 to Lavinia on the 
security of that portrait? Yes, he had. It was part 
of the Idea that he should. A bit of big business such 
as magnates were accustomed to transact. Here he 
was—in the midst of a transaction of the greatest 
importance. A Romney of which the dealers prob¬ 
ably knew nothing at all. And that Chicago 
millionaire-) 

Mr. Doune was trying to hide his excitement. 
“Look here,” he cried, “you’re a brick, and if my 

aunt- I say, if you could get a copy made, and 

were to sell the original privately for a thousand— 
I know it’s worth more than that—I’d pay you back 
£500. I don’t care a fig for the thing myself, but 
you know what one’s people feel. A copy’d please 
’em just as much. But it ’d have to be done pri¬ 
vately, or the family would kick up the devil’s own 
row. I say, Prince, d’you think you could do this?” 

Mr. Prince did not reply for quite a long time. “I 
think I might,” he said at last, “but of course we’d 
have to do the whole thing in a business-like way. If 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 131 

I could sell it, well and good, but suppose it wasn’t 
sold, it would have to be loaned to me until you re¬ 
paid me the £400.” 

“Why, of course, old man.” Mr. Doune spoke 
doubtfully. 

“And I’d have to have some sort of paper authoriz¬ 
ing me to sell, or else people might wonder how I 
came to have it.” 

Mr. Doune’s eyes narrowed. “Ye-es.” 

“And you wouldn’t mind my showing the picture 
to an expert before I give you the money?” 

“I say, hang it all, can’t you take my word?” 

“That’s nothing to do with it. In matters of busi¬ 
ness you’ve got to do these things, and four hundred’s 
a lot of money to me. Of course if you don’t want 
me to help-” 

“No, no. It’s all right. I see what you mean.” 

“Then I’ll come round to-morrow.” Mr. Prince 
was fastening his coat. “And if I were you, Doune,” 
he added, “I shouldn’t carry a revolver about. I 
don’t suppose you’ve got a licence, and the police make 
an awful fuss. I’ll keep yours, I think, for the pres¬ 
ent, as part of the security.” 

“Righto, don’t you worry about me. Now that 
I shall be able to pay old Jacobs, I don’t want to do 
myself in. And as for Phyllis,” he added savagely, 
“I’m through with her.” 

Mr. Prince smiled, and said good night. 

Altogether a strenuous day. 



CHAPTER XIV 


If you want to make money, you must work hard. 
All the educational manuals agree on that point. The 
next morning Mr. Prince worked very hard indeed. 
In the modern way he transacted most of his business 
at the telephone. He spoke first of all to his friends 
the Esmondes. Then he was switched on to the 
Farnham Automobile Hiring Company. After that 
a letter was written and sent off to Mr. Carstairs at 
Bournsea, informing the bank-manager what might 
be happening to Mr. Prince’s account in the near 
future. A trunk call was put through to a certain 
castle in Sussex, and while he was waiting, Mr. 
Prince seized the opportunity of persuading Messrs. 
Casdagli Brothers to send one of their experts to see 
him. The trunk call followed, and there was a smile 
on Mr. Prince’s face as he replaced the receiver. 

After which he walked round to Mount Street. 

It was then that things began to happen, and they 
continued to happen by fits and starts for the next 
six days. . . . 

At a few minutes before one o’clock that morn¬ 
ing, a sleek gentleman with a bald head and a large 
diamond in his tie-pin, arrived at the Savoy Hotel. 
He announced himself as Mr. Reuben Casdagli, and 
was immediately shown up into a private room. 

132 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 133 

There he found Mr. Prince and—a portrait of a 
young man in blue satin. 

The two gentlemen shook hands. Mr. Prince of¬ 
fered his cigarette-case. 

“It’s good of you to come so quickly,” he said, 
“but my time, you see, is so short.” 

Mr. Casdagli was making little purring noises in 
his throat. He had hardly glanced at Mr. Prince. 
He had placed two pairs of pince-nez on his rather 
large nose, and his attention was being given to the 
picture which had been placed on an easel. He ex¬ 
amined it from all sorts of positions. At one moment 
Mr. Prince was afraid lest he was about to lick off 
some of the paint, at another it seemed likely that he 
would hit the back of his head against the door. He 
tapped and knocked and blew at the frame, and then 
he produced a magnifying-glass from his pocket. 
And all the time he continued to purr. 

“An early work,” he announced at last. “I 
haven’t seen it before, and it hasn’t been in the market. 
If I were to make a guess, it would be that it is either 
Lord Waldo or Sir Robert Anselm as a young man.” 

“It is Sir Robert,” said Mr. Prince, secretly 
marvelling. 

The purring became louder. “And it is to go to 
America?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

“Seems a pity,” commented Mr. Casdagli. “A 
very great pity. I’d give you—I’d give you, let me 
see”—he gave a sharp glance at Mr. Prince—£1200.” 

Mr. Prince shook his head, and smiled. “Quite 


i 3 4 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

out of the question, Mr. Casdagli. If you remember, 
I told you on the telephone, there was some talk of 
a copy being made before the picture went out of the 
country, and also we thought that it ought-” 

“Quite. Quite.” Mr. Casdagli had resumed his 
examination of the portrait. “I quite understand. 
We shall do exactly what you require. The time is 
short, very short indeed, but I think we can manage. 

I have a very good man who will do- Yes, yes, 

but it’s a great pity. Would—£1500 tempt you?” 
he added, and jerked up his head like a bird. 

Mr. Prince seemed impressed. He did not reply 
for a moment or two. 

“I must think it over,” he said. “Meanwhile-” 

“I’ll send for it, Mr. Prince, after lunch. You 
need have no fear. We undertake the insurance while 
it is with us.” 

He removed his glasses, observed that the day was 
hot, wiped his brow, shook hands, and departed. 

Mr. Prince wrote out a cheque for £400, and sent 
for a messenger boy. 

He lunched alone in an old-fashioned chop-house, 
and then walked to Shepherd’s Market. There, in 
a garage, he renewed acquaintance with Major Gilbert 
Farnham. The Major seemed delighted to see him. 

“And you’ve got another of your little stunts on?” 

Mr. Prince admitted that another little stunt had 
begun. He fancied he might require a powerful car 
two or three times this week. And a chauffeur who 
knew Sussex. 

The Major had just the man. 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 135 

And the terms? 

The Major suggested their going into his office— 
a tiny box of a place—and there went into the matter 
in detail. Mr. Prince listened attentively. His ex¬ 
penses, he saw, would not be small, but 'in big busi¬ 
ness expenses were the last thing, to be considered. 
He would probably be careering all over the place for 

the best part of a week, and- The big Daimler, 

by all means. To-morrow morning at the Savoy 
Hotel. Ten o’clock. 

He said good-bye, and walked away in the direc¬ 
tion of Victoria. Outside the station he hailed a cab, 
and was driven to Chelsea. 

And there, at any rate, the adventure showed every 
sign of being a success. 

Miss Esmonde was alone. 

“Auntie’s gone out,” Miss Esmonde informed him, 
and hoped that he would not mind. 

Mr. Prince looked round to make sure that the 
door was well and truly closed, and then kissed her 
five or six times; “I say, Doris, how ripping! I 
haven’t seen you for weeks. Let’s sit on the sofa.” 

She was pretending to frown. “For you to maul 
me about?” 

“Maul? I like that. I say, you do kiss splendidly. 
Let’s kiss twenty times as slowly as we can.” 

“Don’t be silly. They’ll be bringing in tea in a 
minute.” 

“We’d hear them coming.” 

“But I want to hear all about the yacht.” 

“Yes, but let’s kiss first. I’ve got heaps of things 



136 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

to tell you, and I want you to come out to-morrow 
for a run in the car.” 

“The car? What car? You haven’t got a car, 
Oliver?” 

“I’ve got one for a week,” Mr. Prince told her im¬ 
portantly, “and we’re going to have lunch in Brighton.” 

“But I can’t come alone with you!” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, father’d object.” ’ 

“He wouldn’t. I think he likes me, you know,” 
he added, and for a while no further speech seemed 
to be called for. 

Over tea, however, Mr. Prince discussed some of 
his plans. He was purposely rather vague, and he 
swore her to secrecy every few minutes. “I can’t 
tell you dl,” said he, “but if the affair does come off, 
I’ll—I’ll give you a new dress,” he finished. 

“You give me a new dress? You can’t do 
that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, you can’t.” 

“Then I’ll give you something else.” 

“But I can’t understand, Oliver. Why do you 
want to go to Brighton?” 

“They give you such good meals there.” 

“Don’t be so silly. Tell me.” 

Mr. Prince assumed a mysterious air. “Will you 
come?” he asked. 

“Ye-es, if father doesn’t mind.” 

“Oh, I’ll tackle him. Splendid! We’ll have the 
greatest fun. You and I, Doris, in a huge car!” 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 137 

“But can you afford it?” 

Mr. Prince was at some pains to explain that where 
big business was concerned expenses never mattered 
very much. “We're going to have the time of our 
lives/’ said he, “and that’s all about it.” 

And have the time of their lives they most certainly 
did. Mr. Esmonde gave his permission, and saw his 
daughter depart in a huge Daimler a little after ten 
the next morning. The Daimler raced down into 
Sussex, and stopped at a village, and found its way 
into a glorious park, and set down Mr. Prince in front 
of an old castle. For a while Miss Esmonde was 
left alone in the car, agreeably intrigued, and not 
even when they reached Brighton and were eating 
the nicest possible food would he tell her the real 
object of his visit. 

“Just business,” said he. 

Afterwards they danced in the resplendent hotel, 
and she found that he danced very well, and he felt 
impelled to whisper his determination—rather a rash 
one—never to dance with anybody else, and on the 
homeward run they sat very close together, and 
agreed that for pals like themselves to have quarrels 
or even mere tiffs was the height of absurdity. 

And yet six days later, when Mr. Prince happened 
to be lunching in Chelsea, Miss Doris was exceed¬ 
ingly haughty and cold. Even her aunt noticed it, 
and tried not to smile. Mr. Prince seemed very 
unhappy. 

There was a reason, of course. Miss Esmonde 
considered that it was a very good reason. Mystery 


138 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

was all very well, but when it meant that you were 
not allowed to be told anything, and people could 
never say whether they would be able to come round 
to your house until the last minute, it was not to 
be borne. Moreover, was joy-riding every day in 
the country in a large Daimler the right way to make 
money? And Oliver had promised that she should 
share all his secrets. 

They played billards as usual, but the game did not 
open very well, and before many strokes had been 
played, he had propped up his cue against the table, 
and was facing her. 

“I say, Doris, what’s up?” 

“Up? Nothing’s up.” 

“You’re—so—so beastly.” 

“Oh, I’m beastly, am I?” 

“Hang it, you know what I mean. You’re quite 
different. And at lunch you were queer. You won’t 
even smile.” 

“I can’t always be smiling.” 

He looked at her for a moment in silence. “Doris, 
do tell me.” 

“There’s nothing the matter. Why don’t you go 
on playing? I came here to play billiards.” 

“I can’t play when you’re not a bit pally.” 

“Well, you’re not pally either.” 

“I?” said Mr. Prince, genuinely surprised. 

“Yes, you. It’s you who’ve been behaving in a 
beastly way. I never know what you’ve been doing, 
or when you’re coming to see us. You just come and 
go as though the house was a hotel. And you’re 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 139 

always in that beastly old car, going to Sussex. I 
—I suppose she’s pretty?” 

Mr. Prince stared in astonishment, and then 
chuckled. “You old idiot,” said he impolitely. 

“Oh, I’m an idiot, am I? Well, then, you’d better 
go off to your American girl.” 

“But there isn’t an American girl.” 

“Really ?” The word was spoken with all the scorn 
at Miss Esmonde’s disposal. 

“You know there isn’t. Would I have taken you to 

Brighton if- I say, Dbris, you don’t want a— 

row?” 

She was just about to assume her haughtiest air 
when she unwisely looked into his eyes. “I—you’re 
horrid,” she said. 

“But I’m not horrid, you know. Only frightfully 
busy.” 

“So you say. You told me you’d tell me all your 
adventures.” 

“But this one isn’t finished.” 

“You’ve been saying that for the last week.” She 
was pouting. It was becoming very difficult indeed, 
she found, to continue being haughty and cold. 

“Well, it’s a long adventure, and you can’t rush 
these things.” 

“You might have taken me in the car yesterday.” 

He looked at her reproachfully. “I didn’t know 
how long I should be. As a matter of fact I didn’t 
get home till eleven. But, Doris, I’ll be able to tell 
you everything to-morrow, if the adventure has been a 


success. 



140 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“Promise?” said the girl after a pause. 

He nodded, and looked very pleased. Then he 
kissed her—several times—and for some reason or 
other that particular game of billiards was never 
finished. 

And the next day it really did seem as though the 
adventure was nearing its conclusion. At an early 
hour Mr. Prince drove round to Mount Street. He 
took with him a picture wrapped in brown paper. He 
found the Honourable Lavery Doune in bed, sipping 
his coffee and reading the morning paper. 

“Hullo, Prince, got it at last?” He spoke sleepily. 

Mr. Prince nodded. 

“Well, thank God for that, I was getting nervous.” 

“Nervous? Why?” 

“If the guv’nor were to come along and see that 
empty space over the mantelpiece, he’d want to know 

- However, I must get up and have a look at it. 

Seen the paper?” he added. 

“Yes.” 

“Seen where my aunt is, then ?” 

“The Duchess? No.” 

“Morocco,” said Mr. Doune with the utterest con¬ 
tempt, “and that probably means she won’t be back 
till the spring. Can’t understand what she can see in 
those dagoes out there. Well,” he added, “it’s a 
good thing I thought of selling. No news yet, I 
suppose?” 

Mr. Prince looked at him. “Yes,” he said quietly, 
“it’s all settled.” 

The Honourable Lavery jumped up in the greatest 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 141 

excitement. “Lord!” cried he, “why didn’t you tell 
me ? Man, don’t you see what it means to me ? How 
much did you get?” He was wide awake now. 

“How much did I get?” repeated Mr. Prince. 

“Well, I’m not quite certain. I think-” He took 

a paper from his pocket and consulted it. “Taking off 
expenses and things of that sort,” he continued, “I 
reckon I shall have got about £1430.” 

Mr. Doune had leapt from his bed and started to 
dance round the room. “I say, you know, it isn’t half 
such a bad world after all. I had a letter from Phyllis 
last night.” 

“I thought she had chucked you.” 

“Oh no. It was only one of her usual scenes. That 
Major fellow is the most frightful bounder. No girl 
would want to be seen about with him. She’s lunch¬ 
ing with me to-day, as a matter of fact. I say, let’s 
have a look at the copy. You told ’em I wanted the 
old frame?” 

“Yes, I told them they were to return the old frame.” 

“Fourteen hundred!” cried Mr. Doune boisterously. 
“My stars, what a piece of luck! Come along. I feel 
like a bottle of fizz.” 

In the drawing-room Mr. Prince untied his parcel, 
and stepped back to look at the portrait. “Pretty 
good, eh ? I went to the best people. They had to be 

frightfully quick. Generally it takes much longer- 

Hullo, what’s the matter?” 

The Honourable La very had uttered a cry of dis¬ 
appointment. 

“The blithering idiots!” he shouted. “Call that a 




i 4 2 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

copy? Why, anyone could tell it hadn’t been painted 
a week! Prince, can’t you see? It’s all shiny and 
new.” 

Mr. Prince was playing with his watch-chain. 
“You can’t help that,” he said. “It’ll look old soon 
enough.” 

“Heavens, man, but it would never take in the 
guv’nor for a moment. Look at it! My hat, what 
the deuce-” 

“Why not hang it in a dark corner for a while?” 

There was no question that the portrait of Sir Robert 
Anselm looked exceedingly new. There was also no 
question that Mr. Doune was exceedingly worried. 

“I wish I’d never seen the confounded thing.” 

“But why not do as I suggest? Why not put some 
other picture over the mantelpiece and-” 

“Oh, come on then.” Mr Doune was scowling. 
“Lend me a hand. We can take down that Cornish 
picture.” 

Five minutes later the portrait of Sir Robert Anselm 
was hanging in a corner, and a view of the Cornish 
coast on a rough day was to be seen over the mantel¬ 
piece. Mr. Doune, in his dressing-gown of scarlet with 
blue facings, was smoking a cigarette and attempting 
to hide his perturbation. Mr. Prince, also smoking, 
reclined in an easy chair and blew rings at the ceiling. 

“So that’s that,” he remarked cheerfully, “and if you 
take my advice, Doune, you’ll think twice before getting 
into debt again.” 

An angry look had come into the other’s face. 

“Look here, Prince, you’ve helped me out of a hole, 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 143 

and Pm grateful, but when I want your advice I’ll ask 
for it. We’d better talk business. You say there’s 
about a thousand to come. I could do with a cheque as 
soon as you like.” 

Mr. Prince seemed to be suddenly embarrassed. 

“Haven’t you got the money yet?” 

“Not all of it,” admitted Mr. Prince. “I expect to 
get the rest on Monday or Tuesday.” 

“Well, you can give me a cheque dated Tuesday. 
That’ll be good enough for me.” 

Mr. Prince’s embarrassment was obviously increas¬ 
ing. “But I gave you your cheque.” 

Mr. Doune stared. “I’ve had £400, and I promised 
you an extra hundred if you sold the picture. Well, 
you got about fifteen hundred. Take off expenses, and 
that leaves about nine hundred for me, doesn’t it?” 

“Not exactly,” said Mr. Prince. 

“What the dickens d’you mean?” 

“Well, you see, the nine hundred pounds or whatever 
it is is being invested by a man who understands these 
things—for me.” 

“For you ? It’s not your money.” 

“Oh yes,” said Mr. Prince. “You see I-” 

Mr. Doune had risen up, and stood threateningly 
over him. “Look here-” he began, but was in¬ 

terrupted. 

“You’re a pretty good fool, Doune, you know.” 
Mr. Prince spoke very quietly. “If I were you, I 
should go straight in the future.” 

“What in hell’s name-” 

The door opened, and an elderly gentleman with a 





144 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

white moustache and a large buttonhole came in smiling. 

“Well, my boy, how are you? Not dressed? Gra¬ 
cious! And who-” 

He was looking at Mr. Prince. 

Mr. Doune was swallowing. He looked unhappily 
about him. 

“My father,” he managed to say, “Mr. Prince.” 



CHAPTER XV 


Lord Bellchester shook hands in his bluff hearty 
way. 

He did most things in a bluff hearty way, and en¬ 
joyed an empire-wide reputation as a bluff hearty man. 
It was often said of him that he was certainly one of 
the three most popular men in Great Britian. A man, 
they would tell you, with no nonsense about him—the 
sort of old-fashioned squire who said what he wanted 
to say: no more and no less. A man, they might in¬ 
form you, of great guile when it was a question of 
horseflesh or shot-guns or the flight of a ball or a fight 
at the National Sporting Club, but a man with the sim¬ 
plicity of a child where other human beings were 
concerned. 

A dear old boy, was the general verdict. 

Certainly a dear old boy, but not nearly so simple 
as some clever and cunning people believed him to 
be. . . . 

This morning he brought with him a whiff of the 
country, and as Mr. Prince took his hand he could not 
help wondering how this robust old gentleman who 
looked as if he must live to be a hundred and twenty 
had come to be the father of the rather anaemic and 
exotic Lavinia. 

“Prince ? Prince ?” Lord Bellchester was repeating. 
i45 


1 4 6 the TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“But aren’t you the youngster who stood by Lavery in 
the King Henry? Why, of course you are! We owe 
you our thanks. Well, well, I wish you could persuade 
my boy to get up at a reasonable hour. I was up my¬ 
self at six o’clock this morning. Pulling up weeds. 
Good work, but it makes your back ache. Yes, and I 
caught the eight o’clock train. Met old Johnny Feath¬ 
ers on the platform. Awful old scoundrel, but very 
amusing. Light-weight champion in ’92. Yes. I’ve 
come up on business.” 

He sat down on a sofa, and beamed at Mr. Prince. 

“Business, father?” 

“Yes, and you’ll never guess what it is.” He 
chuckled. “Fact is, I’ve had an offer for the Romney. 
Don’t know that I want to sell. Don’t think I do. 
In fact I’m certain I don’t, but in these days when 
everything’s run at a loss-Hullo, where is it?” 

He was looking at the Cornish picture with a puzzled 
frown on his forehead. His son was staring appeal¬ 
ingly at Mr. Prince. His anger was gone; he was far 
too genuinely frightened to feel any anger. 

“I’ve moved it,” he managed to say, and pointed 
with a trembling hand to the dark corner. 

Lord Bellchester stared at him. “Why?” He 
turned his head. “What a place!” he exclaimed, and 
looked at Mr. Prince. “Fancy hiding away a treasure 
like that! Lavery, d’you realize that’s a most valuable 
picture? It’s the most valuable picture we’ve got. I 
don’t know much about these things myself, but they 

tell me- No, no, that won’t do at all. You can’t 

hide it away in a corner. Let’s have it down.” 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 147 

“But—you-” Mr. Doune was painfully stam¬ 

mering. It is probable that he had never been so 
frightened in his life. His heart had suddenly refused 
to obey the usual laws. He could not look at his 
father. 

Mr. Prince had been silent for the simple reason that 
he had nothing to say. He was aware that the 
wretched Lavery was making signs to him, but the old 
gentleman was waiting for his assistance, and he fol¬ 
lowed him into the dark corner. The portrait was 
taken down, and once again placed on a chair. 

Lord Bellchester put on a pair of large tortoise-shell 
spectacles, and then uttered a sharp exclamation. 

“Lavery, what does this mean?’’ 

“I . . . what’s—what’s the matter?” 

“Matter?” thundered the old gentleman, “this is a 
copy! What have you done with the original?” He 
no longer seemed to be aware of Mr. Prince’s presence. 
“Well, where is the original? You’ve—you’ve sold 
it!” 

The Honourable Lavery was trying to speak, but no 
words would come. 

“Well?” Lord Bellchester looked very stern. 

“I think perhaps-” Mr. Prince was beginning. 

“Kindly allow my son to explain. Lavery, where is 
the Romney ? How comes this copy to be here ?” 

There came a pause which seemed much longer to 
Mr. Prince than it was. And then young Doune broke 
down. To a running accompaniment of tears he 
attempted to tell a coherent story. Debts had mounted 
up again.His allowance had never been very 




148 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

large. Aunt Eleanor had always said so. . . . And 
then Prince’s mention of a copy had put the idea of 
selling the Romney into his head. . . . Prince had lent 
him money. . . . He was sick and tired of everything. 
The other night he had intended to do away with him¬ 
self. Everything was hopeless. He’d had no one to 
go to. 

“So your friend Prince is also implicated? Well, 
I can understand why the portrait should be hidden 
away in a corner, but I am still waiting for informa¬ 
tion as to where my Romney is.” 

Mr. Prince opened his mouth to speak, but he was 
silenced by an imperious wave of Lord Bellchester’s 
hand. 

“You understand, of course, that this is a criminal 
matter? If you were not my son, you would be in gaol 
to-night. I told you a year ago you were not to be 
trusted, and you begged for one more chance. I gave 
it you, and this is what happens. Very well, you’ve 
proved unfit to look after yourself. You will have 
your things packed, and return home with me to-night. 
And you will work on one of the farms for your keep. 
Under my eye your criminal instincts may be kept in 
check, and I shall-” 

The Honourable Lavery suddenly found his voice. 

“You accuse me of all sorts of crimes,” he cried, 
“but you don’t see things from my point of view. You 
wanted me to come up to London, and everybody 
knows you refused to give me a decent allowance. But 

as for your calling me a criminal- God!” he 

shouted, “you put the blame on to me, but if you want 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE i 49 

to know, it’s Prince who’s the criminal. The Romney 
may not actually have been mine, but at least it belongs 
to the family. And it would have been mine when— 
when-•” 

“Yes, quite so,” said Lord Bellchester coolly, “when 
I am underground.” 

“Well, but Prince has sold it for £1500, and refuses 
to pay over the money.” 

Lord Bellchester slowly turned his head. “Is that 
true, Mr. Prince?” 

“No, sir, I have not sold the portrait.” 

“You damned liar!” shouted Mr. Doune in a fury. 
“You made a clear profit of more than nine hundred 
pounds. You told me you had.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Prince. “I did make about nine 
hundred pounds—rather more, I fancy—but it wasn’t 
by selling the Romney.” 

“Then you’ve been betting, you rascal!” 

To Mr. Doune’s enormous surprise, his father was 
wagging a forefinger at Prince, and trying not to smile. 
The room seemed suddenly to turn upside down. His 
heart missed several beats. What on earth did it 
mean?” 

“But I don’t think I shall bet again in the future, 
sir,” said Mr. Prince; “not unless you give me the 
same sort of tip as Zarathustra.” 

“H’m. That may or may not happen, but when 
people help me I like to help them. That horse of 
mine-” 

“Father r 

“My dear boy,” said Lord Bellchester, looking 




150 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

rather sadly at his son, “you’re a damned fool, and 
I’m tired of having a damned fool for a son. That 
Romney has not been sold, and if you don t believe 
me, you’ve only got to look at the chair there, where 
you will see it nicely varnished and cleaned. Mr. 
Prince, whom I have met several times during the 
last week, has more wisdom in his little finger than 
you have in your whole carcase. I imagined so 
much when I heard what he had done for you in the 
King Henry. Now I know. When he came to see 
me five or six days ago, and explained the position, 
I was within an ace of losing my temper and doing 
something for which I might have been very sorry. 
Instead, I fell in with Mr. Prince’s little plan. We 
agreed to meet here this morning. I have repaid 
him the five hundred, as agreed, and I understand 
he was sensible enough to put about a fifth of that 
sum on my horse Zarathustra which won the Brid- 
bury Stakes on Wednesday. I don’t often give tips, 

but when I do- As for you, I will pay all your 

debts on condition that you work on the estate for 
a year and give up Miss What-ever-her-name-is. If 
you don’t care to do this, you may go to the devil 
as fast as you please—in which case Mr. Prince has 
my permission to return you your revolver. But I 
rather hope,” he finished, “that this uncomfortable ten 
minutes may have taught you a lesson.” 

“But the best of it is,” said Mr. Prince in the course 
of his promised explanation to Miss Esmonde that 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 151 

evening, “I believe the old boy is going to change his 
mind. ,, 

“What about ?” 

“Well, you see, that day when we went to Brighton, 
I didn’t go to the Welkenbergs at all, as you thought, 
but only to see Lord Bellchester. I wanted to see 
whether he’d sell—of course I knew from the start that 
the Romney didn’t belong to Lavinia—and I mentioned 
the Americans. There wasn’t much doing—about a 
sale, I mean, but I said I’d be in the neighbourhood the 
next day, and I saw him again, and then I was driven 
to the Welkenbergs, and told them about the portrait, 
and what Casdagli had offered. We had a long talk, 
and they said I might go up to £3000, so long as none 
of the dealers came into the business. So back I went 
to Lord Bellchester, and he wasn’t there, and I had 
a fearful business to find him—I found him at last 
at a cattle-show, and we went into a sort of pub; and 
I told him what Welkenberg had said. But the old 
boy wouldn’t hear of it. He wasn’t going to sell, he 
said, to any beastly foreigner. So there it was. But 
I told him I’d been on the yacht, and I said the Wel¬ 
kenbergs were friends of the Duke’s, and most amus¬ 
ing people, and said I thought they’d give even more 
than three thousand if necessary. But he only shook 
his head, and began mumbling about Lavinia.” 

“But, Oliver, I don’t understand. Where was the 
picture all this time?” 

“Oh, of course there never was a copy. The por¬ 
trait was just being varnished, because I’d read in the 


152 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

book Mr. Waynflete sent me that these old pictures 
ought periodically to be overhauled—to prevent ’em 
from cracking or something, and it was all part of our 
scheme, don’t you see. I knew Lavinia would have 
to have a lesson, or he’d go on getting into debts and 
making a fool of himself. But Lord Bellchester’s 
such a good sort that he was as keen on my scheme 
as I was. I think he likes me, you know, because 
he told me to back that horse of his.” 

“Yes, well, but what then?” 

“Oh, well, that day when you wanted to come in 
the car, I took the portrait, all varnished, you know, 
with me, and fetched the Welkenbergs and took them 
to Bellchester Castle, which isn’t far off, and they got 
on splendidly with the old boy. Talked about horses 
and things. And he knows Kirkaldy, you see. So 

we talked of yachting and the Navy and-” 

“But wouldn’t he like to get the three thousand?” 
Mr. Prince shook his head, and smiled down into 
her eager face. “It wasn’t any good,” he told her. 
“Of course when I saw in the paper that his horse *had 
won I didn’t mind so much, but—to-day when we 
left poor Lavinia crying his eyes out, Lord Bellchester 
told me he’d had another offer of £4000, and as I told 
you, he’s thinking of changing his mind. In which 

case, you see, I’d get a commission of—er-” 

“Oh, Oliver, how lovely!” 

He broke off his calculations to kiss her. 




CHAPTER XVI 


And then there followed a little series of reverses 
which culminated in a deplorable evening at Mason’s 
Club. 

The reverses themselves were not of a kind to lead 
to the bankruptcy court, although they were mostly 
financial; but Mr. Prince felt that they had no right 
whatever to come. Not for a moment did he cease 
to exercise the most powerful vigilance, and only once 
did he allow himself—excusably, as anybody would 
admit—to forget his usual devilish cunning. No, 
it just seemed as if Providence, usually so helpful, 
had decided, for some unknown reason, to lead him 
temporarily astray. 

Everything, indeed, went wrong. It went so 
lamentably wrong that a time came when Mr. Prince 
was within an ace of giving up all thoughts of a 
career in high finance and deciding to become a police¬ 
man in the unhealthiest part of Central Africa. 

It all began with the arrival of Major Farnham’s 
letter. 

At the time Mr. Prince was at home, the successful 
financier who was spending most of the day study¬ 
ing the current financial news. His banking account 
had become so agreeably large—even after a sub¬ 
stantial present to his mother—as to deserve the 
i53 


154 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

description of “swollen.” And even Mr. Carstairs 
was treating him with a new sort of respect. As for 
his mother and Mr. Waynflete—well, never again 
would they look on him as a kid. Life, moreover, 
in the little house had become considerably more com¬ 
fortable with the importation of Jane, who was an 
excellent cook and knew how your clothes ought to 
be kept. And it was additionally pleasant to have Jane 
about the house when you had made yourself entirely 
responsible for her wages. 

Also, there was that letter, three times a week, from 
Chelsea. 

Affairs, in fact, were going very well, and the out¬ 
look for the future was rosy. It became rosier, too, 
when the Major’s letter arrived, because Mr. Prince 
had been informed that his friends the Welkenbergs 
had been hurriedly recalled to Chicago. As a result 
he had been uncertain as to what he should do. An 
invitation had come only a week ago to visit the 
Sussex castle, and he had been looking forward to 
further profitable transactions. With his patrons, 
however, in the States—and they were expected to 
be away for some months—it became necessary to 
look elsewhere, and at exactly the right moment Major 
Farnham had asked for his help. 

The letter was certainly most intriguing. The 
Farnham Automobile Hiring Company, it seemed, 
was not doing very well. Quite the reverse. It was 
being starved for want of capital, and the Major had 
written to him as “a man likely to know rich and 
influential people who would be willing to invest.” 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 155 

A minimum of £7000 was required if things were to 
be put on a really paying basis, and if Mr. Prince 
could produce this sum a substantial interest in the 
business was to be his. 

A substantial interest! In other words, no doubt, 
a parternership. Or, to be more correct, a director¬ 
ship. All successful financiers became company di¬ 
rectors sooner or later and had their speeches reported 
in the newspapers. And to be a director meant- 

But £7000 was a very large sum. Mr. Prince had 
no intention of allowing anybody else to think that 
he considered £7000 a very large sum or anything 
like it, but in his own private thoughts it remained 
most uncomfortably large, and you couldn’t get 
away from the fact. Seven thousand pounds meant 
an income of £350 at least—a flea-bite to a man like 
Cornelius Welkenberg, but a small fortune to most 
of his own acquaintances. And yet it would have 
to be obtained. 

Mr. Prince took a walk on to the quay, sat down 
by the water’s edge, and communed with himself. 

The swollen banking account was useless for this 
particular business—already certain investments had 
been made—but other people had swollen accounts 
as well as himself, and they would have to be ap¬ 
proached. Query—on whom to begin? There was 
the Duke, of course, but the Duke was cruising some¬ 
where near to the Orkneys, and apparently could do 
nothing without his trustees. A cable to America? 
But if Mr. Welkenberg was busy in Chicago, he would 
probably not be interested in the Farnham Automobile 



156 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

Hiring Company. Besides, in this kind of affair it 
was important that you should see the possible inves¬ 
tor and explain in person the various advantages 
which he would obtain. But who was there? Lord 
Bellchester? Well, perhaps: but Lord Bellchester was 
much more interested in horses than in cars, and he 
was not nearly so rich as most people thought him. 
Lord Oxney? Lord Oxney was certainly interested 
in motoring, and he should be asked. Suppos¬ 
ing, however, all Oxney’s money was already 
invested ? 

‘Til write to Mr. Esmonde,” said Mr. Prince, and 
immediately decided that it would be very much better 
to see Mr. Esmonde. And then, unwittingly, he al¬ 
lowed his thoughts to remove themselves for a time 
from all financial questions. 

A director of a large company would certainly 
have a house of his own, probably a London house 
as well as a cottage in the country. He might have 
his mother to live with him and look after the serv¬ 
ants. And there would probably be a couple of rooms 
for an old friend like Mr. Waynflete. Also, a di¬ 
rector would marry, even though he happened to be 
rather younger than most other directors. He would 
marry, and allow his wife quite a decent sum to spend 
on clothes. A director’s wife ought to be well dressed. 
Well-dressed wives, indeed, were often able to be of 
great help to their husbands in a financial career. 
They gave dinner-parties and things of that kind. 

And marriage itself would be the most frightfully 
exciting adventure. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 157 

Mr. Prince seemed to be seeing a fashionable church 
at which a wedding had just been soleminzed. He 
saw himself as the groom in the smartest clothes, and 
a naval officer—probably young Ashley—as his best 
man. He saw a very shy Doris on his arm, and a 
tearful Aunt Mabel, and Mr. Waynflete in a curiously- 
cut frock-coat, and his mother in purple silk. Then 
he saw himself in one of his own cars driving away 
with his bride, and Ashley or some other idiot had 
tied a white satin slipper at the back. 

Yes, but he must first become a director. . . . 

“Seven thousand pounds!” he repeated, and at 
that moment it seemed impossible to believe that 
anybody could have such a sum to hand over for in¬ 
vestment. On the other hand, he did get on well with 
people, particularly with rich people. They liked him. 
And he was one of the lucky ones. Things happened 
to him which didn’t happen to other people. 

“I’ll go,” he said; “I’ll go at once.” 

This time, however, his luck seemed dead out. 
He travelled first-class to London, but the carriage 
was full of the most impossible people, and no station- 
master mistook him for a peer. At Waterloo he chose 
out the smartest-looking taxicab, and the taxicab broke 
down on Waterloo Bridge. And at the hotel—it was 
not the Savoy or the Ritz but the Northumberland, 
a much cheaper place, he had been told, and quite as 
central—he was given a room which was not at all 
suited to a financier in process of becoming a director. 
Moreover he was astonished and hurt to be told on 


158 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

the telephone that the whole Esmonde family had gone 
that very morning on a visit to a Warwickshire aunt, 
and would be away for ten days. Well, of course, 
they hadn’t known that he would be coming to Lon¬ 
don, and Doris, he remembered, had mentioned some¬ 
thing about the visit in one of her letters, but 
really- 

That evening after dinner he was introduced to 
Mr. Gordon Soames, a meeting, as it happened, not 
without importance. Mr. Soames came to the North¬ 
umberland Hotel with his friend Major Farnham. 

“You see,” explained the Major, as they sat down 
in a corner of the hotel lounge, “I’d already promised 
to dine with him, when your wire came; so I’ve 
brought him along.” 

Mr. Soames proved to be excellent company, and 
for a while Mr. Prince forgot his disappointment. 
Mr. Soames, he gathered, was a barrister with the 
reputation of being the cleverest amateur conjurer in 
England. He was a tall, thin, lantern-jawed man 
who looked as though he ate nothing solid and had 
just been condemned to a long term of imprisonment. 
When he spoke it was in mournful accents, and there 
was a permanent frown on his forehead. Yet he told 
the most amusing stories—in a tragic voice and as 
though any point they might possess was wholly be¬ 
yond his own comprehension. And at the most un¬ 
expected moments, he would take a ring or a coin or 
a coloured handkerchief casually out of his pocket, 
and instantly and without apparent effort change the 
object into something quite different. On one occa- 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 159 

sion he caused a half-filled liqueur-glass to disappear 
miraculously into space, and he changed a half-crown, 
borrowed from Mr. Prince, into a bone counter, and 
seemed surprised that so simple an exposition of magic 
could afford any amusement. 

“The easiest thing in the world,” he said in his dole¬ 
ful way. “That counter has cost you half a crown, 
but I dare say you won’t grudge it. Put it back 
in vour pocket, and don’t lend money again.” 

Mr. Prince was highly impressed. He put the 
counter into his pocket, and laughingly entered into 
the spirit of the thing. 

(He was still more highly impressed when on un¬ 
dressing that night he found that the counter was not 
in his pocket at all, though the half-crown was.) 

“I can’t think how you do it,” said he, when 
a white handkerchief had just been dyed under his 
nose. 

“Nor I,” exclaimed the Major, “and if I had those 
fingers of yours, I wouldn’t be wasting my time hiring 
out cars.” 

A faint smile appeared on the barrister’s face. 
“What would you do then?” 

Major Farnham winked at Mr. Prince. “Try a 
little card-sharping, I expect.” 

“And look to me to defend you at the Old Bailey?” 

“Anything to help a friend, my dear fellow.” He 
turned to Mr. Prince. “How’d you like to play cards 
with him?” 

“Cards!” cried Mr. Soames, ‘“you don’t imagine I 
play cards?” 


160 the TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


“I should think,” ventured Mr. Prince, “you’d play 
jolly well.” 

“It’s a mug’s game,” the barrister told him. “I 
mean, if you play for stakes.” 

“But if you play cards,” remarked the Major, “you 
must play for money.” 

“And small stakes,” added Mr. Prince, “can’t hurt 
anybody.” 

Mr. Soames looked at him. “Quite sure?” he 
asked. “But perhaps you’re a born gambler?” 

“Oh no. I like a game sometimes, but that’s all. 
We used to play on board. Bridge or poker, you 
know.” 

“Lucky?” 

Mr. Prince nodded. “I generally do manage to 
hold good cards, and then of course at poker—well, 
there’s a lot of cunning in the way you play.” 

The barrister smiled as he took a pack of cards 
from his pocket. He shuffled, held the pack out fan- 
wise, and invited Mr. Prince to take any five cards 
that he liked. “Pick out a nice poker hand for your¬ 
self, and we’ll see if I can’t beat you.” 

Mr. Prince very carefully ignored all the cards 
which he thought the barrister wished him to take, 
and to his own great chagrin found that he had the 
two, four and five of spades, and the three and nine 
of hearts. 

“Now pick a hand for me.” 

Mr. Prince picked out five further cards in the 
same careful way, and found that he had drawn the 
five top honours in spades. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 161 


“But how on earth-” 

“Your luck must have changed/’ said Mr. Soames 
in his solemn way, as he gathered up the cards. “You 
must have offended the gods.” 

And really, it did seem as if the gods had become 
offended, for during the next few days nothing went 
right. . . . 

The campaign was opened in Major Farnham’s 
little office. “The position, you see,” said the Major, 
“is more or less this. The new premises and new stock 
including Mayfair Motors Limited which we want to 
buy up, will take about ten thousand pounds. I’m 
good for a thousand, and old Burgess is going to put 
in about the same, if there’s any chance of the rest 
being obtained. And then there’s Harry Ryde 
who-” 

“What name?” asked Mr. Prince quickly. 

“Sir Henry Ryde. Old pal of mine. In the . 
Glamorgans together, when he hadn’t a bean. But a 
brother of his was killed, so he came into things. 
Why, d’you know him?” 

“No, but a man I know was talking about him.” 

“Well, he’s a real good sportsman. He’s got money 
in the business, as it is, and he’s practically promised 

me a couple of thousand more if- Well, you see 

what it is, Prince. We’ve got to find a big man 
who won’t mind waiting a bit for his money. Other¬ 
wise-” He shrugged his shoulders. “For all 

I’m getting out of it now, I might just as well be 
in Honolulu. And every day it will get worse. We 
shall be squeezed out of existence.” 






162 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


There followed details of the various rival concerns 
which seemed eager to squeeze the Major’s small 
company out of existence. Mr. Prince listened, and 
promised to do his best. 

And later that morning he began to work. He 
interviewed almost everybody he knew in London, 
and obtained—nothing. He saw the Admiral after 
much trouble with clerks and secretaries, and the 
Admiral seemed delighted to see him. But when the 
question of a possible investment in the Farnham 
Automobile Hiring Company was broached, the Ad¬ 
miral was afraid he could do nothing, and begged 
Mr. Prince to excuse him. The Second Sea Lord, 
it seemed, was waiting to see him. Mr. Prince 
walked to Grosvenor Place, and called on the Ashleys. 
Ashley himself was away, but his father was at home 
and invited him into his study. And there Mr. Prince 
did his utmost to persuade the old gentleman that 
the Farnham Automobile Hiring Company was the 
finest thing of its kind in the country. Mr. Ashley 
refused to believe him. Mr. Ashley even seemed 
sorry to learn that Mr. Prince was having anything 
to do with such a business. 

There followed half a dozen similar rebuffs. No 
one appeared to possess one farthing to invest in 
anything at all, and even those who fancied they 
knew people who might have a little spare cash, could 
find nothing to say in favour of an automobile hiring 
company. The thing, they declared, was being 
overdone. 

Mr. Prince announced his failure to the Major, but 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 163 

asked for the loan of a car. He drove down into 
Sussex. Lord Bellchester expressed great pleasure 
at seeing him again, and gave him another tip— 
Bluemantle for the Rutlandshire Handicap—but he 
obviously looked on Major Farnham and Major 
Farnham’s business with the deepest suspicion, and 
advised Mr. Prince to have nothing to do with it. 

“But with a little more capital, don’t you see-” 

Lord Bellchester didn’t see. Nothing could make 
him see. 

And much the same reception awaited Mr. Prince at 
Oxney Towers. Lord Oxney gave him a warm wel¬ 
come, and renewed his invitation to shoot partridges, 
but as for a commercial proposition—well, Mr. Prince 
was advised to abolish the present iniquitous taxes 
before inviting fellows to invest. 

No, things refused to go right, and when some 
stock which he had bought on Mr. Esmonde’s recom¬ 
mendation fell two whole points, Mr. Prince experi¬ 
enced those feelings of despair which he presumed 
were common amongst ruined gamblers. And then 
at a moment when the letter from Doris was three 
days overdue, and the Major was talking of emigra¬ 
tion, and his hotel bill had assumed quite Savoyan 
proportions, and nothing in the nature of an adven¬ 
ture, financial or otherwise, showed the least inclina¬ 
tion to come his way, he met Sir Henry Ryde: a 
meeting which led to that disastrous evening at 
Mason’s Club. 

It was his own fault, of course; but that only made 
matters worse. He ought never to have played. He 



164 the TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

had never intended to play, least of all at Mason s 
Club. But play he did, and not all his cunning could 
alter the poor cards he held. 

It all happened very simply. He was sitting in Ma¬ 
jor Farnham’s office one morning when a young man 
whom he had seen once or twice at the Northumber¬ 
land Hotel strolled in. 

“Well, my dear Gilbert,” said the newcomer, “any¬ 
thing fresh? Oh, sorry, I thought you were alone.” 

“Hullo, Harry, come in. You don’t know Mr. 
Oliver Prince, do you? Sir Henry Ryde.” 

So this was the man who had rooked Lavinia! 
But—surely not ? Mr. Prince had hardly shaken hands 
with the baronet before he was certain that he would 
like him. There was something about his good- 
natured face which inspired confidence. Lavinia must 
have been talking through his hat. In a little while, 
indeed, he was smiling to himself at Doune’s ridiculous 
accusations. Lavinia, he reflected, had probably been 
drunk at the time when he had lost so heavily at Ma¬ 
son’s Club. Sir Henry Ryde was quite charming. 
And he was a most interesting talker—on the serious 
side. A candidate for Parliament, Mr. Prince gath¬ 
ered, somewhere in his native Devon. They talked 
politics until the Major was summoned to the garage. 

“One of the best,” remarked Sir Henry, offering his 
cigarette-case. “He really does deserve to make a suc¬ 
cess of things.” 

“I hope he does,” said Mr. Prince warmly, and then 
he added: “Aren’t you staying at the Northumber¬ 
land ?” 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 165 

“Yes.” 

“I thought’d seen you about. I’m there for a 
little while myself.” 

“Good, then I expect I’ll see something of you.” 

They met again that evening in the hotel, and over 
a cocktail became friendly. They dined at the same 
table, and once again discussed the affairs of the 
nation, including the future of the Navy. Sir Henry 
Ryde had apparently made a study of naval problems, 
and Mr. Prince’s heart warmed towards him. Inci¬ 
dentally he promised to dine with his new friend at 
Mason’s Club the next night. 

He dined, and was invited to play bridge for what 
appeared to be very moderate stakes. 

Almost at once he became aware that the atmosphere 
about him was strange and unfriendly. The little 
dining-room at Mason’s was the cosiest possible place, 
and its members the best of good fellows. But the 
card-room—well, the card-room was quite different. 

In some queer way, too, that long thin face of Mr. 
Soames seemed to be looking down at him from some¬ 
where. And he knew that he would lose. Luckily it 
wouldn’t matter. The stakes were low: very low, he 
considered, for a really smart Club. 

Sixpence a hundred. Practically nothing. 

Incidentally he took an acute dislike to a man called 
Brand who, as it happened, remained Sir Henry’s 
partner during most of the rubbers. 

He had lost about one thousand five hundred points 
on the evening’s play, and was preparing to pay over 
his few shillings when he was shocked to discover 


166 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

that the stakes had not been the sixpence-a-hundred he 
had supposed, but sixpenny points. 

Thirty-eight pounds gone in a couple of hours! 
And he could say nothing at all. The mistake had 
been his. They had asked him if “sixpence” would 
suit him, and he had agreed. There was nothing to 
do but to pay up and look pleasant. 

The gods were most certainly offended. 


CHAPTER XVII 


Two mornings later Mr. Prince lay in bed, looking 
at the untouched breakfast by his side in disgust. He 
had the worst sort of headache. He felt unable to 
eat, and disinclined to get up. Not for a considerable 
time had he been in such a poor temper. At the 
moment it seemed to him that London was an entirely 
hateful and despicable city, while its inhabitants were 
either misers or thieves. With all his heart he wished 
that he had taken no notice of Major Farnham’s letter, 
and stayed down at Bournsea. 

Who could have believed that a man with his 
devilish cunning could have lost £38 in an evening at 
a game of bridge ? 

Well, it only showed you. . . . 

At any rate it was never going to happen again. 
He had had his lesson. 

From the moment when he had paid away those 
bank-notes over the table, Sir Henry Ryde had ceased 
in his eyes to be a sportsman, and Mr. Brand, if not 
an actual cheat, was clearly a very sharp customer. 
They ought, he repeatedly told himself, to have 
warned him. Any real sportsman would have made 
the stakes absolutely clear before the game began. 
“Sixpence” very definitely meant sixpence a hundred. 
You could ask anybody you liked: they would all tell 
167 


168 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

you that it meant sixpence a hundred. Pride had kept 
him silent at the time, but in some way or other he 
was going to get his own back. 

Very decidedly he was going to get his own back. 

At the moment, however, no good method had sug¬ 
gested itself, and his smart had not become less when 
he had run across Gordon Soames again on the pre¬ 
vious day. Mr. Prince, explaining what had hap¬ 
pened, expected commiseration. Instead, Mr. Soames 
had been unkind enough to say that if anybody chose 
to play with the sharks at Mason’s he deserved to lose 
£380 at least. 

Whereupon Mr. Prince had been rude, and only 
regained his usual good spirits when the barrister 
performed more wonders with cards, and pretended 
to explain how his tricks were done. 

No, things had gone hopelessly wrong. 

To-day, however, there was just a chance that af¬ 
fairs might improve. At eleven o’clock he had an 
appointment with the marine superintendent of the 
Blue Cross Line—Captain Pelly had been a friend of 
his in Sandmouth days—who was going to introduce 
him to one of his directors, a very rich man who might 
be interested in the Farnham Automobile Hiring Com¬ 
pany. And he was to lunch with Mr. Soames. Also 
at a few minutes past three he would know whether 
Lord Bellchester’s horse Bluemantle had presented him 
with seventy pounds or cost him a tenner. He smiled 
as he remembered Zarathustra’s win, and the headache 
showed signs of disappearing. Then he remembered 
the game with Sir Henry Ryde, and the pain returned. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 169 

But he hadn’t finished with the baronet and his 
friends just yet. To-night, he had, rather rashly per¬ 
haps, promised to play poker with Sir Henry and 
three other men, here in the hotel. 

And at poker, as he had found in the King Henry, 
devilish cunning usually paid very well. 

He arrived at Captain Pelly’s office on the stroke 
of eleven, and found the marine superintendent de¬ 
lighted to see him, but apologetic. 

“Awfully sorry, my lad, but old Mackness has gone 
up to Stirling, and may be away for a week. I only 
heard myself this morning, or I’d have let you know. 
Have a cigar.” 

Mr. Prince hid his disappointment as well as he 
could. “I’m not old enough for a cigar,” said he. 

Captain Pelly chuckled into his beard. Young 
Prince with his cheeky ways had always amused him. 

“Well, if you don’t want a cigar, what do you 
want ?” 

“Money.” 

“Heavens, you don’t really expect to find money 
these days, do you? But I tell you what, my lad, 
I believe I really can do something for you. When 
I saw you the other day, there was nothing much do¬ 
ing, but one of our youngsters is down with scarlet 
fever or some such complaint, and I can give you a 
ship.” 

Mr. Prince was smiling and shaking his head. 
“Thanks very much,” he said, “but I don’t want a 
job just at the moment.” 


i;o THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“Then you’re lucky. Most fellows nowadays seem 
to spend their time looking for a job.” 

“I know, but, you see, I’ve taken to finance, and 
that was why I wanted to see Mr. Mackness. If 
he;——” 

There was a knock on the door, and before Captain 
Pelly could speak it had been opened. A small, thin, 
hollow-eyed, clean-shaven man came in. He smiled 
faintly at the superintendent, and then saw Mr. Prince. 

“Oh, sorry,” he said; “I thought you were alone.” 

“Come in, come in.” Captain Pelly had risen. 
“You needn’t be afraid of young Prince. Don’t you 
know him?” He had shaken hands with the new¬ 
comer, and turned to the boy. “This is Tom Lansing. 
I thought you were in the Tigris together.” 

“I don’t think so,” said Lansing shaking hands, and 
it struck Mr. Prince that he had never seen a man 
who looked so ill. 

“And what brings you to town?” asked Captain 
Pelly. 

“Usual thing. I want a ship.” 

The superintendent looked embarassed. “But didn’t 
you get my letter?” 

Tom Lansing nodded. “You said there might be a 
chance.” 

“A hundred to one chance against, I said, Tom. 
No, I’m sorry, old man, but I don’t see what we can 
do. Three or four senior men like yourself are on the 
shelf.” 

Mr. Prince had never seen Tom Lansing before in 
his life, but all his sympathy had already been roused. 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 171 

Here was another poor wretch out of a job, and ill 
into the bargain. He felt intensely sorry. Obviously 
the man was hard up. “He probably doesn’t get 
enough to eat,” he reflected, and was conscious of a 
strong desire to help. 

There was a tiny uncomfortable pause, and then 
Tom Lansing lit a cigarette. “Oh, well,” said he, and 
forced a curious little chuckle, “that’s that.” 

Captain Pelly looked relieved. “In about three 
months’ time,” he said, “I hope things will be better.” 

“Good.” Tom Lansing looked at Mr. Prince. 
“He’s a bit of a tyrant, don’t you think?” 

Mr. Prince smiled. So the man had taken his gruel 
like a sportsman. “Of course he is,” he agreed. 

Captain Pelly burst into laughter. “My lad, I shall 
have to warn you against Master Tom. He’s always 
trying to take my character away. Says the most 
dreadful things. I can’t think how any girl ever mar¬ 
ried him. He’s not at all the sort of husband I’d like 
my wife to have.” 

“You’re jealous,” retorted Tom Lansing. 

“Am I? Well, my dear Tom, I don’t think you 
need worry. But at any rate Mrs. Lansing can’t ac¬ 
cuse me of taking your character away.” 

“I’m not so sure. Last time I came up to see you, 
you accused me of being a spendthrift and a wastrel 
and goodness knows what else.” 

“Did I? Well, if I did, you probably deserved it. 
And you’re a fearful gambler, you know, Tom. I 
wouldn’t trust you with a sovereign. Sitting up half 
the night-” 


i 7 2 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

Mr. Prince looked quickly at Tom Lansing. So the 
man was a gambler. Captain Pelly, he thought, might 
have been speaking half in fun, but there had been a 
serious note somewhere in his tones. And could it 
be that there was some particular reason for Lansing 
not getting a ship? It might be so, though he hoped 
it was not. 

Lansing was laughing. “All right, all right. 
We’ve all got our little vices. I like a good game of 
cards, but just because you once happened to find me 

playing rather late in the evening- However, if I 

stay in London for a few days this time, I’ll try to 
mend my evil ways.” 

A clerk came in just then, and Mr. Prince de¬ 
parted. . . . 

At luncheon that day with Mr. Soames he was un¬ 
usually silent, but he could not forget that look on 
Tom Lansing’s face. In all probability he would never 
see the man again, but there was something about him 
which continued to demand his sympathy. Married 
and ill and out of a job. The rottenest luck. Things 
had been going badly for himself, but his banking ac¬ 
count was still swollen, and something was sure to turn 
up. But a man like Lansing had most probably been 
fighting against odds all his life. No doubt a care¬ 
ful sailor, but a man who would never really succeed 
because—well, because there was always something 
against him. Illness or gambling; that kind of thing. 
There were men, he knew, who had never been able 
to help themselves. Generally it was their own fault, 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 173 

but with Lansing it might have been the sheerest bad 
luck. 

“Still nursing your grievances?” asked the barrister 
at last. He had come to the conclusion that the boy 
was an unusually stimulating youngster, but expected 
a little more return for his hospitality. “You’re about 
as lively as an owl.” 

Mr. Prince pulled himself together with an effort. 
After all Tom Lansing might be responsible for his 
own troubles, and one’s sympathy could often be mis¬ 
placed. “Sorry,” he said, “but I was thinking of a 
poor devil I met this morning out of a job.” 

“It strikes me you’re in much the same position 
yourself.” 

“I’m not married, and I don’t look half-starved.” 

“You can thank the gods, then, for two small 
mercies.” 

Mr. Prince smiled. “You married?” he asked. 

Mr. Soames looked terribly shocked. “Surely I 
don’t look it?” A queer little chuckle came from his 
lips. “No, my dear boy, I took up conjuring instead. 
Much cheaper in the long run, and just as satisfactory.” 

“You do talk nonsense,” Mr. Prince told him, and 
just then a wholly new Idea floated into his head, an 
Idea which seemed startlingly brilliant if a little dan¬ 
gerous. 

“It’s my trade,” declared the barrister. “I get 
money by talking nonsense—in wig and gown.” 

“Money,” repeated the boy. “Well, I’m going to 
make money to-day. Like to follow my example?” 


i 7 4 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“I might make an exception in your case,’ replied 
Mr. Soames, “though as a rule I don’t bet. What’s 
the horse ?” 

“Bluemantle,” said Mr. Prince, wondering how the 
other had guessed at his meaning, “and the tip came 
straight from the stable. It’s something very special 
indeed.” 

“H’m, then I’ll telephone to the estimable Duggie. 
And if it wins-” 

“If it wins,” interrupted the boy, “you’ve got to do 
something for me.” 

“That’s fair. What is it?” 

Mr. Prince put out his right hand with the fingers 
stretched out. “Think I could manage one or two of 
those tricks of yours?” he asked. “I used to palm 
halfpennies as a kid.” 

Mr. Soames stared at him. “And why this new en¬ 
thusiasm?” he demanded. 

There came a little pause. 

“I was thinking of—of exposing a cheat. But I 
shouldn’t be able to do that, I expect, if I couldn’t 
show how the thing was done.” 

Mr. Soames assumed his most mournful expression. 
“The young man from the country preparing to beard 
the lion once again in his den? Is that wise, my 
friend? I thought you had finished with lions and 
sharks and people of that kind.” 

“It may not be wise,” retorted Mr. Prince, now very 
full of his Idea, “but will you do it? I don’t mean 
pretending to show me. I mean really explaining.” 
He looked very serious. 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 175 

“My charges.-” began the barrister, and his eyes 

were full of fun, but the boy stopped him. 

“I know I shan’t be able to do much myself,” he 
went on, “but I’d be most awfully grateful if you’d 
show me how they were done. Of course I wouldn’t 
tell a soul.” 

Mr. Soames pretended to consider the proposition. 
He was greatly amused. “But Bluemantle hasn’t won 
yet,” he pointed out. 

“But it will win.” 

“Well, if it does win, I dare say I might let you 
in to one or two tricks of the trade, but for the 
Lord’s sake don’t do anything rash.” 

Mr. Prince frowned in his comical way. “You’ve 
got to take risks,” he declared. 

“Have you?” 

“You’re going to risk a pound or two on Blue- 
mantle, aren’t you?” 

“One to you,” said Mr. Soames. “All right, it’s a 
bargain.” 

Lord Bellchester’s horse won by a head, and its suc¬ 
cess was celebrated immediately afterwards in Mr. 
Soames’s flat. Mr. Prince was duly initiated into 
some of the subtler methods of card-manipulation 
and proved an apt pupil. And although he realized 
soon enough that years of practice would be necessary 
before he could hope to make his fingers work the 
miracles which to the barrister appeared so easy, he 
felt confident that should a sharper attempt any of his 
tricks at the card-table, they would not pass unobserved. 



1 7 6 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“It seems to me,” he remarked, “that the great secret 
is misdirection.” 

“Of course it is,” agreed his teacher, who was now 
thoroughly enjoying himself. “You make your aud¬ 
ience think you’re doing one thing, while you’re really 
doing something quite different.” 

“Well, if everything else fails, I shall become a crook 
on one of the big liners.” 

“Right you are, and I’ll defend you if anything goes 
wrong.” 

Mr. Prince expressed his gratitude for the lesson— 
it had lasted for more than two hours—and returned 
to his hotel to dress. On this occasion the process was 
unusually slow, because he wasted a great deal of time 
in front of the mirror—not, however, to observe his 
personal appearance, but to watch his fingers during 
their manipulation of a new pack of cards. 

(It was really quite astonishing what you could do. 
When Doris returned he would have something to 
show her. . . . ) 

The headache had completely disappeared. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


That evening things did not go exactly as he had 
expected. 

There was a game of poker, it is true, and Mr. 
Prince had a chance to show his cunning at the game. 
Indeed he rose from the table a good winner. But by 
the sheer cussedness of things, this was the one game 
of poker of all others at which he would have preferred 
not to win. ... 

At seven o’clock he ordered a cocktail to be brought 
to him in the lounge. He sat down for a quiet think. 
And his mind was being given to a particular move¬ 
ment of the third finger of the right hand required for 
a difficult “pass,” when he became aware that some¬ 
body was looking at him. 

“Hello,” said Tom Lansing, “dreaming of beauti¬ 
ful ladies?” 

Mr. Prince was faintly surprised. Somehow Lan¬ 
sing was the last man he had expected to see. 

“Hullo,” he returned, “are you staying in the hotel ?” 

“Lord, no,” laughed the other. “When I come to 
London I stay in a tiny room close by—in one of the 
streets off the Strand. The landlady’s an old nurse 
of mine. A dreadful old tyrant. But I’m out on the 
spree to-night, so dropped in here to have a look 
round.” 


177 


178 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“I see.” Mr. Prince was trying not to look at Lan¬ 
sing’s country clothes. Yes, he was most frightfully 
sorry for the fellow. There was something about his 
eyes which made you like him. “I say,” he went on, 
“I’m going to dine in a minute or two. Won’t you 
dine with me? I backed a winner to-day,” he added 
smiling, “so we might celebrate the occasion.” 

Tom Lansing seemed embarrassed. “That’s very 
nice of you,” he said, “but I haven’t brought any 
clothes with me.” 

“That doesn’t matter.” 

“But you look so smart, and I feel such a bumpkin.” 

“Oh, but do come,” urged Mr. Prince. “People 
wear all sorts of clothes these days.” 

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind-” He still 

seemed embarrassed. “I really don’t see why you 
should ask me. We’ve only-” 

“Yes, but I want to celebrate. Do sit down, and 
I’ll order another cocktail. Funny meeting you like 
that this morning, wasn’t it? I like old Pelly, you 
know. He used to live near us in Sandmouth. Near 
to Bournsea. I expect you know it. I’m having a 
Martini. Will you have the same? Good. They 
make ’em rather well here.” He was talking quickly 
to hide his own nervousness. He was afraid lest Tom 
Lansing might feel uncomfortable. He felt sorrier 
than ever for his guest. The man looked so ill, and 
was so obviously trying to forget his disappointment 
of the morning. Well, he would order a very good 
dinner and a bottle of champagne. 

“And what,” asked Lansing in a little while, “about 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 179 

the rest of the evening? Should we look in at a music- 
hall? I feel like a little dissipation.” 

Mr. Prince had almost decided to forget his en¬ 
gagement with Sir Henry Ryde when that gentleman 
appeared in the lounge and saw him and came up. 

“Hullo, Prince, Pm sorry to say Gerald Brand’s just 
telephoned to say he can’t play to-night. Rather a 
nuisance, but it can’t be helped. Five is so much 
nicer at poker than four, I always think.” 

Mr. Prince introduced the two men to each other, 
and became more nervous than ever. He had remem¬ 
bered what Captain Pelly had said. 

“Were you speaking of poker?” asked Tom Lan¬ 
sing, and Mr. Prince could not help noticing that a 
new eager look had come into his face. 

Sir Henry Ryde was holding a match to his cigar¬ 
ette. “Yes, we’ve fixed up a game in my room to¬ 
night. Play yourself?” 

“Oh yes. I think it’s my favourite game.” 

“Then you’d better join us. That’ll make five, if 
you will.” 

“Thanks very much. I’d be delighted. As a mat¬ 
ter of fact I was just wondering what to do after din¬ 
ner when you came up.” 

Mr. Prince smiled uneasily. He had no fear of high 
stakes for himself, but if Lansing were really the gam¬ 
bler that Captain Pelly had called him, the evening’s 
entertainment might prove serious for him. Also 
his presence might interfere with the working of that 
new Idea. In fact it might be advisable to postpone 
the game altogether. Yet how could he? Lansing 


180 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

had become his guest and wanted to play. Already, 
indeed, he and Ryde had begun to talk of hands they 
had held. . . . And at dinner his discomfiture in¬ 
creased. He began to understand what a reckless man 
Lansing under certain circumstances could be, and 
felt the cares of a new responsibility. Yet, was it, 
after all, his business if a fellow chose to gamble? 
Wasn’t Lansing very considerably his senior ? Be¬ 
sides, the man might be lucky and win. Then why 
worry, particularly as his guest seemed to be enjoy¬ 
ing his dinner so much? 

For all that, he continued to worry. Suppose—the 
game to-night was not played fairly? Brand was not 
coming, but two other men—guards officers—who be¬ 
longed to Mason’s Club had been invited. And Ryde 
himself- 

Was he being beastly suspicious? Thinking of that 
disastrous evening in his bed it had been easy to believe 
that Lavery Doune had not been the only victim of the 
“sharks” at Mason’s Club, but here, at the same dinner- 
table with the man, listening to his amiable chatter, it 
was impossible to believe him capable of descending to 
sharp practices. Sir Henry Ryde was a man of con¬ 
siderable means who had invested money in the Farn- 
ham Automobile Hiring Company, a man of position 
who had been chosen as candidate for Parliament. A 
man of that kind would never dream of having any¬ 
thing to do with crooks and card-sharpers. 

In that case, however, surely he ought to have made 
it quite clear for what stakes they had been playing ? 

“I’ve got to be most frightfully cunning,” thought 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 181 

Mr. Prince, and remembered his new sleight-of-hand 
knowledge. 

Five gentlemen played poker that evening in Sir 
Henry Ryde’s room, but before the first hand had been 
dealt, Mr. Prince was surprised to receive an invita¬ 
tion into his host’s bedroom, and still more astonished 
to hear what Sir Henry had to say. 

“Fve been rather worried, Prince,” he began, “about 
that game of ours the other night. Brand seems to 
think you may not have understood the stakes we were 
playing for. It never occurred to me you weren’t quite 

clear about them, but Brand imagined- Oh, I hate 

talking like this, because we may be all wrong, but if 
you were misled, we think we ought to repay you, and 
—er, apologize. You see-” 

“Oh, but-” Mr. Prince felt exceedingly awk¬ 

ward. All his suspicions had disappeared at the first 
words, and he was about to declare that he had fully 
understood, when Mr. Soames’s long face seemed to be 
grinning rather contemptuously at him. “The sharks 
at Mason’s Club.” Was this sudden apology another 
move, perhaps, in a sinister game, calculated to put him 
off his guard ? He was looking closely into Sir Henry 
Ryde’s face. Surely it expressed nothing but an hon¬ 
est intention to set matters right, if a mistake had been 
made? 

“You see,” the other was continuing, “we do play 
high at Mason’s, and I’m such a casual devil myself 
that it never struck me you might not want to play so 
high. But Brand seems to have had it on his con- 





182 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

science, and he made me promise to speak to you to¬ 
night.” 

“But of course it’s all right,” Mr. Prince managed to 
say. “I quite—understand. It was nice of you 
to-” 

“Then that’s all right,” said Sir Henry, obviously 
relieved. “But I didn’t want to play with you again 
without telling you what we thought. By the way, 
we’d better settle now about the stakes to-night. Any 
objection to ten shilling rises?” 

“None for myself, but I don’t know about Lan¬ 
sing.” 

“He seems to have played a good deal.” 

“Yes, but I’m afraid he’s not very flush. Out of a 
job for the moment.” 

“I see. Well, he can choose the stakes himself,” de¬ 
clared Sir Henry, and they returned to the sitting- 
room. 

To Mr. Prince’s surprise Tom Lansing suggested 
that their host had better choose the stakes, and made 
no objection to ten shilling rises. The game began 
quietly. There were no very high hands, and at the 
end of an hour’s play no one had won or lost more than 
a few pounds. Lansing himself was a small winner. 
But after a short interval for refreshments the game 
took on a different aspect. The betting became 
brisker, more counters appeared on the table, and Sir 
Henry, as host, began entering an account of sums 
borrowed in his note-book. And then there came the 
first of several remarkable hands. A full-house held 
by Tom Lansing was beaten by four threes held by one 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 183 

of the subalterns. From that moment Lansing’s luck 
deserted him. He held splendid cards, but was always 
just beaten. Mr. Prince was winning, but even when 
he scooped in a large jack-pot, he was not wholly en¬ 
joying himself. He could think of nothing but this 
unfortunate sailor. Any question of unfair play had 
been hurled out of court. All memory of his latest 
Idea was gone. Nothing seemed to matter except that 
Tom Lansing’s luck should change. He was a good 
loser, but he must have lost the best part of £50! 

And when, somwhere near midnight, the unfortu¬ 
nate man’s four tens were beaten by four queens in 
Sir Henry Ryde’s hands, Mr. Prince was conscious of 
a wild desire to sweep all the cards and counters off 
the table and burn his host’s note-book. He was still 
winning himself, they were all winners, all except Lan¬ 
sing who at each hand was betting more recklessly. 

What was to be done? If things continued in this 
way, how could the poor chap possibly pay? Was 
there no way of stopping him before he was utterly 
ruined? And what if he himself were to be held re¬ 
sponsible for having introduced the man to the others ? 
What a fool he had been to play at all! This was not 
the kind of adventure for which he had come to Lon¬ 
don. All the pleasure of winning for himself had 
gone. And it was impossible not to see that Lansing 
was now in a state of despair which was making him 
stake absurdly. 

Then, as though Fate enjoyed mocking him, the 
sailor staked high on a bluff.—a pair of nines—and 
was beaten by another bluff—a pair of knaves! Mr. 


184 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

Prince wanted to cry out. He managed to catch his 
host’s eye. Surely this was enough? Sir Henry 
seemed to understand, for he looked at his watch, and 
proposed a final round of jack-pots. 

“Agreeable to you, Lansing?” he asked. 

“Oh, quite, thanks. I expect it’s getting late, and 
it doesn’t look as if I could win a hand to-night.” 

“We’ll have to give you your revenge some time,” 
said one of the soldiers. 

Lansing smiled, but said nothing. He won none of 
the five jack-pots, and when the accounts were added 
up had lost £84. 

Mr. Prince did not dare to look into his face. What 
would the man say? 

Whisky was produced, and they stood by the fire¬ 
place, and attempted to condole with the loser. 

“And that reminds me,” said Lansing suddenly. 
“I’ll have to give you an I.O.U., if you don’t mind. 
I’ve only got a tenner with me.” 

“Quite all right,” said Sir Henry languidly, “but 
how about playing to-morrow again? You say you’re 
not in London for long. I’m free to-morrow.” He 
looked interrogatively round. 

“Suits me very well,” said Tom Lansing, and emp¬ 
tied his glass. “I may have better luck.” 

They agreed to play. 

Mr. Prince felt as though he had committed a crime. 

He spent an uncomfortable three hours the next 
morning. He could not rid himself of the idea that 
a sword was hanging over his head. It was impos- 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 185 

sible to refuse to play again, and he had a premonition 
that the third game of cards would prove just as un¬ 
fortunate as the others. Tom Lansing’s luck would 
remain shockingly bad, and he himself would have been 
responsible. 

He hung about the hotel, thoroughly upset. He 
thought of going to Major Farnham’s office, but what 
was the use? His present visit to London had failed, 
and failed badly, and there was no more to be said. 
True, Bluemantle’s victory and the £15 he had won at 
poker had rendered his loss at bridge negligible, but 
as for real business, it was, to use Ashley’s phrase, 
a wash-out. 

And it had really seemed as though Soames was 
somehow responsible. Ever since he had met the bar¬ 
rister, his luck had changed. Yet he liked the man, 
and his sleight-of-hand was superb. He smiled as he 
remembered that difficult “pass” which to Soames was 
so easy. It was really rather strange that the barrister 
did not go on the halls as a professional conjuror: he 
was certain to be a success. Why, he could perform 
marvels a foot in front of your nose, and you hadn’t 
the smallest idea how they were done! In the old 
days, of course, he would have been a magician or an 
enchanter, and had a long beard, and worn a huge 
mantle. They might even have burnt him alive as a 
wizard. 

“Oh, Lord,” he sighed, “what utter rot I’m thinking. 
I wish-” 

He stopped thinking, for a page-boy was coming up 
to him with a letter. 



186 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

It is astonishing what a mere letter can do. This 
was quite a short letter, written in a Warwickshire 
manor-house. It told Mr. Prince little more than that 
its writer was returning to London rather earlier than 
she had expected. True, there was a very private mes¬ 
sage at the end, but it was just such a message as had 
appeared in most of the recent letters which this par¬ 
ticular writer had been so regularly posting off. And 
yet a single reading of its untidy sentences instantly 
transformed Mr. Prince from the disgruntled and 
pessimistic financier with whom the gods were of¬ 
fended, into an enthusiastic superman who was as¬ 
suredly destined to succeed. 

Cards ? What did they matter ? 

But, as it happened, they were to matter consider¬ 
ably that very day. 


CHAPTER XIX 


By nine o’clock that evening the five gentlemen who 
had agreed to play poker had foregathered in Sir 
Henry Ryde’s room. The host himself was producing 
drinks. Mr. Prince was cracking jokes and endeav¬ 
ouring to obtain some enjoyment from a huge cigar. 
If Tom Lansing was nervous he did not show it. As 
before, he was the only one in morning clothes, and 
he was helping the two guardsmen to sort out the 
counters. Of these a small coloured one assumed a 
temporary value of threepence, a large white one was 
sixpence, a large coloured one was a shilling, a thin 
slab of mother-of-pearl was half a crown, and a “spade 
guinea” in brass was ten shillings. Five little piles 
were being built up. . . . 

One game of poker is much like another. As be¬ 
fore, the opening bets were modest enough. It was 
as though nobody wanted to be the first to buy a new 
lot of counters. Lansing, however, soon began to win 
small sums. The first jack-pot went to him. He lost 
half a dozen of his spade guineas on a bluff, but won 
the three following hands. The host’s note-book was 
brought out, and Mr. Prince’s name was the first to 
be entered: he seemed unable to hold any cards. Sir 
Henry himself was also losing, though the two guards¬ 
men remained more or less “square.” An unusually 
187 


188 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

protracted jack-pot went to the host, and then for the 
first time there was some really big betting, at the end 
of which Tom Lansing laid down four sixes on the 
table. 

One of the subalterns uttered a sharp exclamation 
of annoyance. “I’ve a full-house aces up,” he cried, 
“and yet I lose! Lansing, you’re getting your own 
back all right to-night.” 

“It is a good thing I threw up my own hand,” re¬ 
marked Mr. Prince. “I held good cards, but was 
frightened out. It’s the first piece of luck I’ve had 
to-night.” 

“Yes,” said Tom Lansing. “I’m afraid you’ve 
taken my place as Jonah to-night.” 

“Can’t be helped, old son,” drawled the host. “Un¬ 
lucky at cards-” 

He stopped. Another hand was being dealt, the 
last hand, as it happened, to be dealt that evening. 

Mr. Prince was the dealer. He picked up his cards, 
and frowned. Then he glanced quickly at Lansing 
who was sitting opposite, and saw that he was pro¬ 
posing to play the hand. Sir Henry retired, but the 
others came in. Cards were discarded and drawn. 
Tom Lansing and the others took three each, Mr. 
Prince helped himself to one. It was Lansing’s turn 
to bet, but no bet was made. To the table’s astonish¬ 
ment he threw down his cards. 

“I refuse,” said he, speaking quietly, “to play 
another hand.” 

“Good gracious, what’s the matter?” Sir Henry 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 189 

Ryde was staring at him with a puzzled frown on his 
face. 

“I prefer not to say, but I must refuse to play.” 

The host had risen. “I don’t know what the devil 
you mean,” he said with dignity, “but if you suggest 
that one of us is cheating-” 

Tom Lansing looked extremely uncomfortable. “I 
do suggest that.” 

Everyone rose up. For a moment there was silence. 
Then the host spoke in his ordinary tones. 

“I don’t know if you fellows agree with me,” he 
said, “but it seems to me that if Mr. Lansing has a 
direct accusation to make, he had better make it at 
once.” 

Tom Lansing did not reply. 

“You’ve got to substantiate the charge,” observed 
one of the guardsmen, frowning. 

“Well, sir?” Sir Henry was stern. 

Tom Lansing brushed a hand over his hair. He 
moistened his lips. He glanced at each of the others, 
and then stood stiffly erect. And when he spoke he 
was looking at nobody. 

“I hate having to say it,” he said slowly, “but I ac¬ 
cuse young Prince of changing the card he ought to 
have drawn for another.” 

They turned slowly round to look at Mr. Prince, 
who was nervously fingering his tie. 

“Well?” demanded the host. “You’ve heard what 
Lansing has to say.” 

“It’s—it’s ridiculous!” Mr. Prince was looking at 



igo the TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

his fingers. “I admit Eve been losing, but as if I 
should-” 

“Good God, man , I saw you!” Tom Lansing had 
swung round and was holding on to the lapels of the 
boy’s coat. “Can you stand there and swear you 
didn’t change the card?” 

Mr. Prince looked helplessly at the others. It was 
quite true. He had changed the card, and by a cruel 
piece of luck, or, to be more correct, from lack of suffi¬ 
cient practice, he had been found out. Lansing must 
have had a sharper pair of eyes than he had expected. 
He could feel the man’s hands shaking against his 
chest. 

“I’ve made a fool of myself,” he blurted out. “I’d 
better go.” He gazed forlornly at his host. “If you 
don’t mind paying Lansing what I owe him, I’ll give 
you a cheque in the morning.” 

“But, look here, you can’t-” 

“There’s nothing to say,” growled the boy, and went 
out. 

He walked slowly to his own room, turned on the 
light and sat down at a writing-desk. So the little 
experiment had failed badly; and there might be the 
devil to pay. Well, the thing couldn’t be helped. He 
was angry with himself and angry with Gordon 
Soames, but there was no use in thinking of that 
lamentable display with the cards. 

He began to write. . . . 

He had not, however, written more than two or 
three words before there was a knock at the door. He 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 191 

took no notice, and the knock was repeated. With a 
frown he laid down his pen, and called out. Tom 
Lansing came into the room. 

“Mind if I interrupt you for a minute or two?” 

“It’s rather late,” said Mr. Prince ungraciously. 

“Yes, it is; but when a thing like this happens the 
hour doesn’t matter. I expect you know why I’ve 
come.” 

“There was no need for you to come. I admitted 
what I had done, and I suppose you can do what you 
like.” 

“Yes, I caught you cheating,” said Tom Lansing, 
and looked very intently at the boy. “Mind if I sit 
down?” 

Mr. Prince shrugged his shoulders. 

“It was not a very pleasant task to perform, and 
if I’d thought for a moment I should probably have 
said nothing at all at the time. As it was, of course, 

I had not the slightest idea that- My lad, what 

on earth made you do such a thing?” 

Mr. Prince’s lower lip was sticking out in an ob¬ 
stinate way. “I’ve already made all the explanation 
I intend to.” 

“Oh no, you haven’t. You can’t expect people to 
let matters rest where they are. We’ve got to have 
this thing out, you know, here and now. I have 
played a good many games of cards in my life, and 
only once before has this sort of thing happened. It 
was at poker, too, and a card was changed. And 
it fell to my lot then to make the accusation. I didn’t 



192 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

want to, but it had to be done. And, honestly, I don’t 
think I ever felt more uncomfortable in my life. 

But-” He paused for a moment. “But on that 

occasion the cheat was a rotter. He had been sus¬ 
pected for some time. In fact we’d agreed that if 
anything in the least suspicious was noticed by any 
one, I was to be given a signal—I was host, you see— 
and make my accusation. Well, my dear boy, it was 
a rotten business, and nearly stopped me from ever 
playing cards again. But there is one thing, Prince, 
that I learnt as a youngster, and have always continued 
to believe. When a man cheats at cards, I’ve always 
understood that he is endeavouring to help himself 
bat not his opponent!” 

Mr. Prince was playing with the buttons of his 
waistcoat. 

“Yes, it was only after you had gone that I realized 
what that changed card had really meant to your hand. 
Of course at the moment I was absolutely thunder¬ 
struck. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. It all seemed 
so utterly—wrong. We stood looking at one another, 
and I wondered when any of us was going to speak. 
And then I looked at your hand—you threw it down 
on the table—and they must have thought I was daft, 

because-Prince! If you hadn’t changed that card, 

rather unskilfully, by the way—you would have won 
the hand. You deliberately got rid of a nine of spades 
which would have given you a straight flush. Those 
two soldiers were just going to chuck in their hands, 
and there was only myself against you. I can only 
suppose you wanted me to win. Well, my lad, I don’t 





THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 193 

quite see your game, and that’s why I’ve come rush¬ 
ing round here without-” 

“Look here,” interrupted the boy, “I’d far rather 
say nothing about it. I’ve made a fool of myself, 
and there’s nothing more to be said. I’m sorry.” 

“You certainly did make a fool of yourself, but I 
don’t know whether it has occurred to you that you’ve 
also made a pretty good fool of me.” 

“You?” 

“Why, of course! You don’t imagine I can leave 
the hotel until I’ve put matters straight.” 

“The others’ll put matters straight. Naturally I 
don’t claim any of my winnings.” 

“Oh? Were you—er, cheating last night as well?” 

“I was not.” 

“Then I don’t quite see- Prince, don’t you 

think I deserve some slight explanation? I meet you 
in the City quite casually, and again the same evening 
here in the hotel. You ask me to dinner, and you 
introduce me to some good fellows, and then we play 
cards. And—suddenly—-this happens!” 

There came a long pause. 

“Well, if you want to know,” said Mr. Prince at 
last, “it was a joke.” 

“A joke? A mighty poor joke, it seems to me.” 

“I mean, I’d been practising sleight-of-hand tricks, 
and I thought it wouldn’t be noticed if-” 

“Heaven help us, but you can’t practise tricks when 
you’re playing for high stakes! And that doesn’t ex¬ 
plain why you should be defrauding yourself.” 

“Oh, well, I thought you were losing enough.” 





i 9 4 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“But—I was winning all the time! ’ 

“Not as much as you lost last night.” 

Tom Lansing’s eyebrows shot up. “What on earth 
has that got to do with it?” 

Mr. Prince seemed too embarrassed to speak. 

“You see, I- My stars, Prince, you didn’t think 

I shouldn’t be able to pay, did you?” 

“Oh, I suppose it has got to come out,” cried the boy 
savagely. “I wish we’d none of us played. It was 
arranged beforehand; to-night’s game, I mean. I told 
Henry Ryde you were out of a job and couldn’t afford 
to lose much, and we agreed you’d had frightful bad 
luck; and Ryde, who’s a jolly good sportsman, sug¬ 
gested we should somehow arrange for you to win 
back what you’d lost. He said it could be done if we 
took enough trouble. In fact he told me he’d actually 
seen it done in a man’s rooms up at Cambridge. And 
then I had an idea, and I said I’d do it by sleight-of- 
hand, and,” he added ruefully, “I bet him a sovereign 
I wouldn’t be found out. We fixed it up this after¬ 
noon. I’m awfully sorry, but-” 

To his intense surprise Tom Lansing was shouting 
with laughter. 

“Out of a job, yes,” he cried, “and the Lord knows 
what the old Doc will say when I get home. It’ll 
mean the yacht can’t be laid up as I wanted. But, my 
dear boy, you needn’t worry about my finances. I’ve 
still got enough to live on, which is more than most 
other landlords can say these days. Why, it’s price¬ 
less !” 

He was laughing very boisterously. 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 195 

“Your—yacht?” Mr. Prince was staring open- 
mouthed. 

“The neatest little fifty-ton schooner you ever saw. 
With a Maudsley auxiliary and a patent bath of my 
own invention. Yes, I’ve had her for two years.” 

“Your own yacht?” 

“Oh, my dear boy, don’t think me rude, but I really 
can’t help it. I shall go on laughing for an hour. 
Even with this supertax I can still keep up the yacht, 
and you can’t do that with a biggish place in the coun¬ 
try on your hands and four or five hunters and a car 
or two, to say nothing of the most extravagant wife* 
bless her, in the country, and a boy at Harrow, on 
nothing, you know. In fact most people will tell you 
I’m disgustingly rich and ought to be put out of mv 
misery at once.” 

“But, I don’t understand. You said—you said you 
wanted a ship.” 

“Didn’t Pelly tell you? I thought he was certain 
to have told you. I’m always worrying his life out. 
Yes, I did want a ship, but I only go to sea for my 
health. Something wrong inside, and the rough life at 
sea does it good. But that’s all. If you come up to 
Harlingham—that’s my place—you can see things for 
yourself.” He became suddenly serious. “But, look 
here, my boy,” he went on, “we had better go back to 
the others. I shall have to explain. Don’t look so 
frightened. I think you’ve behaved like a trump, and 
you’ll have to tell me how I can show you my gratitude. 
I’m going to, you know. Come along, old man, and 
give me your hand.” 


CHAPTER XX 


It was an unforgettable evening, although, after¬ 
wards, Mr. Prince could never be sure about all the 
details of its uproarious ending. 

One thing, however, seemed clear. The barrister 
might have been right about the gods taking offence, 
but they must have forgiven him, for his good luck 
had unmistakably returned. His prowess at card- 
manipulation might be lamentably poor—he admitted 
quite candidly that it was—but by one of those pieces 
of good fortune which were almost becoming pe¬ 
culiar to himself, he had met the one rich man who did 
not seem to think that the Farnham Automobile Hir¬ 
ing Company was doomed to speedy extinction. 

There could be no doubt about it. Luck had turned, 
and the evening was ending in the pleasantest way. 
Champagne had appeared from somewhere, and every¬ 
body was enjoying himself. By general consent the 
game of poker was deemed to have been finished, but 
as an additional penance for his blunder Mr. Prince 
was forced to exhibit all the card-tricks that he knew. 
They were not very skilfully performed, and Mr. 
Soames would not have been proud of his pupil, but 
that did not matter. Nothing mattered except that a 
certain young lady was returning to Chelsea to¬ 
morrow, and after luncheon Tom Lansing was going 
to interview Major Farnham. 

196 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 197 

And, after all, it did not appear that anybody had 
lost very much money. Tom Lansing might be a few 
pounds out of pocket, and Mr. Prince himself a little 
richer than he had been. The tragedy that he had 
been fearing had turned into a delightful comedy, and 
he drank his champagne, and was not in the least 
annoyed at the good-humoured chaff which he was 
forced to undergo. 

Tom Lansing a rich man, a very rich man with a big 
place in the country and yachts and things! Hunted 
whenever he could! Who. would have believed it! 

And once, only a few days ago, he had almost de¬ 
cided that Sir Henry Ryde and his friends belonged 
to a gang of sharps! 

He publicly admitted so much. It seemed the only 
thing to be done. “Eve been the most awful fool,” 
he told them, “and I owe you an apology. I got it 
into my head somehow that—er—it sounds absurd, 
I know—but I wasn’t quite sure whether people at 
Mason’s always played straight. I’d been seeing some¬ 
thing of a man who used to be a member, and he gave 
me a wrong impression. I thought you ought to 
know, you see, because-” 

His explanation was cut short. “Crooks!” cried 
one of the subalterns. “He thought us crooks! Us! 
Gentlemen of His Majesty’s Household Brigade! 
What’s to be done to such a scoundrel?” 

“Obviously a court martial,” said the other 
guardsman. 

And hold a court martial they did then and there. 
It was rather a riotous court martial, and the prisoner 



] 9 8 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

was allowed the unusual privilege of taking a glass 
of champagne with him into the dock. He was sen¬ 
tenced to be placed for twenty-four hours in the stocks 
—if they could be found. 

After which Tom Lansing looked at his watch, and 
announced his intention of going to bed. He took 
Mr. Prince with him downstairs, and asked all sorts 
of questions about these financial affairs which were 
bringing him so frequently to London, and was let 
into the secret of that gold cup which had gone back 
to Turkey, and told of the mistakes that had been 
made with regard to Mr. Prince’s identity, and in¬ 
formed about Mr. Waynflete and the little house in a 
side street. 

And Tom Lansing chuckled to himself as he walked 
back to the attic which was all that his old nurse would 
allow him to have whenever he chose to put himself 
once again for a day or two under her capable wing. 

“Lord,” said he, as he got into bed, “what a joke!” 

Henceforth Mr. Prince very definitely reverted to 
the keen man of business who was going to finish his 
career as a company director with yachts and cars of 
his own. For the next few weeks there were almost 
hourly meetings in the little office in Shepherd’s Mar¬ 
ket. Tom Lansing had seen the Major, and gone 
very carefully into things, and approved of the Major’s 
scheme for reorganization. And he turned out to be 
a man whose enthusiasm, once roused, knew no bounds. 
He sent for his clothes, he sent for his lawyers, finally 
he sent for his wife. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 199 

“Pm not going home,” he announced, “until I’ve 
seen this thing through.” 

And he seemed to forget altogether the important 
fact that the state of his health was demanding a large 
and immediately dose of sea air. 

There was a great deal to be done, and Mr. Prince 
had never been so hard-worked in his life. Yet he 
found time to relax occasionally in the neighbourhood 
of Chelsea. 

It was important, he knew, to have relaxation. 
Billiards, for instance, and dancing. 

And, as everybody would tell you, it was equally 
important to have somebody to whom you could re¬ 
late everything that happened. A real pal, that was to 
say. A pal who understood things and made you for¬ 
get your work at the right moments. Like Napoleon 
who would just fall asleep if he had a few minutes to 
spare. And Doris—well, he was really one of the 
lucky ones because Doris was so absolutely his sort. 
Not in the least like ordinary girls who couldn’t take 
any interest in important affairs. And it was so rip¬ 
ping never to know what sort of dress she would be 
wearing or when she could slip out to lunch at that 
jolly little restaurant in Jermyn Street, where the head 
waiter always allowed you to have the same table. 

It was so jolly, too, to be seen about with her. The 
Lansings, he knew, thought her extraordinarily pretty, 
and Mrs. Lansing, who had the most wonderful 
dresses, had asked her to stay up at Harlingham Hall. 
Mr. Soames was also greatly attracted, and showed 
her all his best tricks. And the Major was most 


200 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

enormously struck. In fact the Major talked a great 
deal of nonsense, and occasionally Mr. Prince had to 
be very stern and severe, because the Major didn’t 
seem to realize—well, that she couldn’t be other people’s 
pal as well as your own. . . . 

Altogether it was a great time. A new company 
designed to amalgamate the business hitherto carried 
on by the Farnham Automobile Hiring Company with 
that of Mayfair Motors Limited, had to be formed. 
And company promotion was not easy. Mr. Prince, 
indeed, felt as though he had gone back to school. 
For at first he knew just nothing at all. The very 
terms which Mr. Soames used—the barrister, it 
seemed, was an authority on Company Law Feld no 
meaning for him. A small portion, however, of that 
swollen banking-account was going to be invested in 
the new company, and he made it his business to 
master every detail. It was undeniably exciting. 
Here they were, four or five men sitting round a table, 
discussing figures and plans, and in a short while other 
garages and a much larger staff and more magnificent 
cars would be theirs. There were various important 
firms to be interviewed, and papers to be signed, and 
officers of the new company to be appointed. The 
Stock Exchange began to be more than a mere name 
to Mr. Prince, and all the while Tom Lansing seemed 
to be writing whatever cheques were required, as 
though the mere possession of a cheque book implied 
unlimited supplies in the bank. 

The supreme moment came one day in November. 
A meeting was being held in Shepherd’s Market, and 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 201 

Mr. Soames begged leave to make an important state- 
ment. 

“I have been making a careful and systematic ex¬ 
amination of the Laws of England/’ he began, “and 
I can find nothing which will prevent our electing to 
the Board of the new company one who is an infant 
—if we wish to do so. True, once elected, I do not 
quite see how he could be held liable for anything short 
of bigamy or arson, but that cannot be helped.” He 
turned to Mr. Prince. “In worldly affairs,” he con¬ 
tinued in his lugubrious way, “you may be the soured 
old gentleman with senile cunning and a mania for 
gambling that we believe you to be-” 

There were signs of an impending struggle, but 
Tom Lansing managed to maintain order. 

“--but, in the eyes of the Law, you are no more 

than an infant, a minnow, a sprat, or a shrimp. A 
thing of no account. A babe in long clothes. How¬ 
ever, in spite of this unfortunate fact, and not¬ 
withstanding my own grave doubts as to the 
advisability-” 

“What he really means of course,” interrupted Major 
Farnham, “is that Prince becomes a director, and as we 
all decided that he should be a director months ago, I 
don’t see the point of the statement.” 

“The Law-” 

“Oh, damn the Law. Let’s go to lunch.” 

“So it’s really all right?” Tom Lansing looked 
very pleased. “Very well then, good luck to you, 
Prince. I think I’ve paid my little debt.” 

Mr. Prince felt his hands being shaken. . . . 






202 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


A company director! 

A successful man of business in receipt of a salary 
and dividends, with new responsibilities, and—perhaps 
* most important of all—a desk of his own! 

What more could you ask for at nineteen ? 

The next two months passed quietly enough. Mr. 
Prince left the Northumberland Hotel, and took a 
modest room in Half Moon Street. He allowed him¬ 
self a few days’ holiday with the Lansings at Harling- 
ham Hall (where he had surprising adventures with 
the Midlandshire Hunt) and he dutifully spent Christ¬ 
mas in Bournsea. He worked hard with Farnham 
Automobiles Limited, and had the satisfaction of 
noting each week a marked increase in receipts. 
Incidentally he learnt the value of advertisement, and 
brought his usual cunning to bear on that branch of 
the business. The swollen banking-account, it is true, 
remained fairly stationary, but it did not actually de¬ 
crease, and there was appreciable time for relaxation. 
His skill at billiards, indeed, rapidly improved, and 
his dancing earned encomiums even from those other 
young men who seemed to find in Miss Esmonde 
their ideal partner. There were theatres, too, and an 
occasional game of squash rackets with Gordon Soames 
at Queen’s Club. 

And yet—well, Mr. Prince did not disguise from 
himself the fact that he was becoming vaguely dis¬ 
appointed. The world still went on much the same, 
as though company directors were as common as dirt. 
And Farnham Automobiles Limited soon seemed to 
be running very smoothly of its own accord. It was 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 203 

not a big company, and, apart from advertisements, 
there was not really very much scope for a fellow. 
Moreover, to do much the same thing every day, even 
though you were a director and not a bank-clerk, 
tended to become monotonous. The story-books and 
the cinema-dramas showed you company directors 
standing by the tape-machine and periodically issuing 
orders to secretaries and stenographers. Often in five 
minutes’ time they doubled or even trebled their 
fortunes. They lived in a sort of whirlpool, and 
allowed you to see the thrill of really high finance. 
But in London, it seemed, nothing of a thrilling nature 
ever happened. You just saw that affairs were pro¬ 
ceeding smoothly, and watched the motor-market. 

Distinctly monotonous. 

And was it really necessary for him to attend at 
the office every day? Very decidedly not. Tom 
Lansing had never come near the place, once the 
Company had been started, and yet Lansing was a 
director. Sir Henry Ryde looked in occasionally, but 
was he taking any active part now? No, he left things 
to the Major, who was Managing Director. Then 
would it not be possible to combine his directorship 
with—something else? 

“You know,” he told Doris one day, “I’m not at 
all sure that I’m cut out to be a business man. Not,” 
he amended, “the ordinary business man.” 

“But I thought—why, you told me it was fright¬ 
fully thrilling!” 

“Ye-es. But not always. Not motors, for instance. 
Of course if I were a partner in a really big business 


204 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

like Rothschilds or Wennigers, it would be different. 
They’re always financing Governments, and influenc¬ 
ing foreign politics. Ambassadors and people like 
that go to their offices, and their meetings are fright¬ 
fully important. That sort of thing is thrilling, be¬ 
cause sometimes the whole history of a nation depends 
on one man sitting in an office, but—motors!” 

“But, Oliver, you’re a director.” 

“I know, but somehow a director isn’t quite what 
I expected. You can’t do much on your own. And 
oh, you see, Doris, if you’ve been in the Navy, you 
want adventures and things of that kind. You don’t 
want to know beforehand the sort of people you’re 
going to meet. And then, in a motoring business the 
profits aren’t really very large. I wish,” he added, 
“something would happen. Something out of the 
ordinary. I’d like to rescue somebody, or find a 
treasure buried somewhere, or be a detective, or 
something.” 

“You are silly,” was all that Miss Esmonde would 
say. 

Mr. Prince shrugged his shoulders. 

There were some things, it seemed, that no girl 
could understand. 

As it happened, however, the Powers that Be were 
just then arranging to project Mr. Prince into yet 
another adventure. 


CHAPTER XXI 


A few days later he arrived, unexpectedly, in 
Bournsea. 

A little holiday, he had come to the conclusion, was 
about due. In fact, if he were not to become stale, he 
ought to take a holiday. And where better than in 
Bournsea, which of late he had been inclined to neglect? 
It would be well to see Mr. Carstairs in person, and 
Mr. Waynflete would be wanting to know how Farn- 
ham Automobiles Limited was progressing. And 
there was his mother. Perhaps he had not been reply¬ 
ing to her letters quite so regularly as was meet. Also, 
it was natural that he should want to see how Jane 
was getting on. At Christmas Jane had seemed to 
be a great success, but then at Christmas housemaids 
were always on their best behaviour. He ought to 
see how she was shaping at ordinary times. Certainly 
there were very good reasons for going to Bournsea. 

In the train he reviewed his financial position. Well, 
it was satisfactory. In a few months’ time he would 
know more or less what amount he could hope to be 
receiving annually from the Company, but even with¬ 
out that source of income, he was a man of some 
means. His fortune might not be large, but its 
foundations had been well laid, and that was the im¬ 
portant thing. At the moment he was marking time. 

205 


2o6 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


Any question of marriage, for instance, belonged 
definitely to the future. Apart from the fact that he 
was rather young, marriage was expensive. Doris 
had money coming to her on her twenty-first birthday, 
but naturally that could not be taken into consideration. 
The wife of Oliver Prince should never be asked to 
keep herself. But it was only a matter of waiting. 

“I shan’t actually buy the ring,” he decided, “for 
some time.” 

But it would be well to begin making preparations. 
In these affairs the further you looked forward, the 
safer your position became. 

Once again he fell into an agreeable reverie which 
lasted until he caught a glimpse of the sea. . . . 

And that evening he received a distinct shock. 
Jane, he found, was doing her work fairly well, but 
she privately complained to him of the house itself. 
He conducted an impartial examination, and found 
himself in the fullest agreement with the housemaid. 
The house was impossible. He could not understand 
how he had ever managed to live in it without repeated 
complaints. It was the rottenest house ever built. 
Nothing was right. The rooms were unhealthily 
small. And, as Jane said, they were wickedly dark. 
The water was never really hot, and there was no 
bathroom. The dining-room ceiling looked as if it 
might fall down at any moment, and some of the wall¬ 
papers had come away from the plaster and made 
ugly bulges. Also Jane was perfectly correct in saying 
that the roof leaked. It was extraordinary that he 
had not noticed all these obvious defects before. The 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 207 

house was a disgrace, and the mother of a company 
director ought never to live in it. As for Mr. 
Waynflete, it was not fair to ask him to pay for his 
lodging. 

Mr. Prince, moreover, experienced a slight sense 
of guilt. All this time he had been surrounded by 
luxury in London, while his mother had been forced 
to live in this—hovel! It was grossly unfair, and 
something would have to be done—something very 
drastic indeed. 

The next day Mr. Prince walked out at an early 
hour, and did not return until late. He did not say 
where he had been, because so far his quest for 
another house had not been successful. There were 
many nice houses in Bournsea to be let or sold, but 
they were either iniquitously expensive or much too 
large. Two days later, however, an agent with whom 
he had become friendly sent him to see a little house 
on the outskirts of the town which might shortly be 
vacated. The present tenant, it seemed, was a rather 
eccentric old lady who owned a house of her own on 
the far side of Sandmouth, and she might be prepared 
to sell her lease—it had ten years to run—if she were 
approached in the right way. 

Mr. Prince found the house, and was enchanted. 
It stood back from the road in a garden which even 
in its winter dress looked delightful. And its interior, 
as he was allowed to see after he had made himself 
agreeable to old Miss Jennings, was ideal. The rooms 
were much larger than you expected, and the bath¬ 
room might have belonged to a London hotel. Mr. 


2o8 the TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


Prince had a long talk with Miss Jennings, and asked 
the price. There was a rent, he was told, of £40 and 
a premium of £200. 

Mr. Prince thought the rent very moderate, but 
was doubtful about the premium. He frankly 
admitted that he was not sure of being able to find 
the money. 

Miss Jennings beamed at him, and advised him to 
think it over. She didn’t really mind, she said, 
whether she went back to her own house or not. 

But—could he have an option for a little while? 

Miss Jennings promised faithfully that for a period 
of four weeks nobody should be allowed to buy her 
lease except Mr. Prince, and they shook hands on the 
bargain. 

There could be no doubt about it. Miss Jennings’s 
house was the ideal place for his mother, who would 
love the garden and the clean white paint and dis¬ 
temper, and the cupboards, and the kitchen. Mr. 
Waynflete could have the large room with the balcony 
upstairs, and there was a little room next to the 
bathroom which would do for himself whenever he 
managed to snatch a few days’ holiday in the future. 

But,—-there was that premium of £200! 

Mr. Prince walked slowly back to the disgraceful 
house in a side street. He could, of course, take £200 
from that swollen banking-account, or at any rate a 
sum almost as much. And there were shares in his 
name which, if necessary, could be sold. But—was 
there no way of earning the money quickly and 
pleasantly in London? Surely the time was ripe for 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 209 

another adventure? And yet, were he to return to 
London at once, he would probably find himself settling 
down in the Company’s office again, doing dull things. 

It was a difficult problem. He had quite made up 
his mind about the new house—was it not his clear 
duty to see that his mother, no longer so young as 
she had been, lived in a comfortable home?—but just 
how the transaction was to be effected, he did not 
know. 

The Fates, however, continued to be more than 
usually kind. That evening while supper was being 
prepared, another telegram came, this time for Mr. 
Prince. It was from Mr. Esmonde who, it seemed, 
was very desirous of seeing Mr. Prince on the follow¬ 
ing morning, not, as might have been expected, in 
Chelsea, but at the Foreign Office. There was a 
private commission for Mr. Prince, if he cared to take 
it, which would brook no delay and would carry with 
it a respectable fee. Could he possibly return by an 
early train? 

There was a pleasant sound about “a respectable 
fee.” It could not be less than—what?—twenty-five 
guineas, and it might reach up almost to the amount 
for which Miss Jennings was asking. As for the 
private commission which would brook no delay, 
nothing could be more exciting. Returning to London, 
Mr. Prince imagined all kinds of heroic if impossible 
adventures. It was just possible that the Foreign 
Office had been told of his encounter with the German 
spy in the King Henry . At any rate Mr. Esmonde 


210 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

knew all about it. Perhaps German spies were once 
again coming to England. Well, it would be delight¬ 
ful to tackle them. War of course was beastly, but 
it was far more exciting than peace, even though 
adventures did come your way now and then. 

Another adventure! And that would probably 
mean that he would have no time to look after the 
interests of Farnham Automobiles Limited. It might 
even mean that his presence in London would have to 
remain secret. A private commission! And as Mr. 
Esmonde was a high official in a Government 

Office- The possibilities were immense. He saw 

himself as a secret agent sent with all speed to America 
to put an end to the rum-runners. He saw himself 
careering across Europe in the role of King’s Mes¬ 
senger, and being drugged somewhere near Milan by a 
beautiful woman who turned out to be the most 
dangerous anarchist ever born to throw bombs. 

And by the time that he had reached the Foreign 
Office, he was finding it somewhat difficult to main¬ 
tain that most necessary calm, without which, indeed, 
any show of devilish cunning was impossible. 

He was kept in a waiting-room for a few minutes 
and then conducted to Mr. Esmonde. 

They shook hands. Mr. Prince was waved into a 
chair by the desk, and Mr. Esmonde came at once to 
the point. 

“Well, my boy,” said he, “I’m glad you were able 
to come because I fancy you’re just the fellow to 
investigate a matter which is giving some of us in the 
Foreign Office a little worry. There are plenty of 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 211 


regular men whom I could have employed, but I wanted 
somebody whom nobody in governmental circles knows. 
The point is this : if you take on the job you will not 
be in any way an official agent, and you will have to 
do things in your own way. I want, you see, some¬ 
body absolutely independent at work, and it struck me 
you were just the man.” 

Mr. Prince endeavoured to show his appreciation. 

“Yes, well, I think we understand one another. Of 
course you understand that anything I tell you is in 
absolute confidence. You will have to give me your 
whole time—well, nearly your whole time, for perhaps 
a fortnight or three weeks. Certainly not longer, I 
should say, and probably not so long. Officially I shall 
know nothing about you, and as far as the rest of the 
world is concerned, you will be in London on business 
connected with your motoring company.” 

“Yes, yes, I absolutely understand, Mr. Esmonde.” 

“And as regards remuneration”—Mr. Esmonde 
paused, smiling—“your expenses of course will be 
paid, and there will be a fee of fifty guineas. 

Mr. Prince thought of that nice little house on the 
outskirts of Bournsea, and privately wondered if the 
fee could possibly be raised. Aloud, however, he ex¬ 
pressed his satisfaction, and thankfully accepted the 
commission. 

“Very well then, we’ll get to business.” Mr. 
Esmonde unlocked a drawer in his desk, and pro¬ 
duced a bundle of papers. He glanced at one or two 
of them, frowned, and then smiled. “Ever heard 
of Styria?” he inquired. 


212 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


“You mean that little place in the Balkans?” 

“Yes. The only Balkan State which managed to 
keep neutral in the war. Rather an aloof place 

hitherto, but in the last two or three years- Well, 

British opinion is not very well-informed about recent 
developments there.” He shrugged his shoulders. 
“Probably there is no particular reason why it should 
be well-informed. On the other hand there is just a 
possibility of certain British interests being affected. 
I don’t suppose it will be necessary for you to know 
much about Styrian politics, but you had better get the 
general hang of things, and Eve got here a copy of 
Lord Umfreville’s book on the country. Don’t forget 
to take it away with you. Styrian Days. Quite an 
interesting book, and very well written. Yes, well, 
the old King of Styria is as cunning as they make them, 
and we are not at all certain what his latest game is. 
By rights he ought never to have been on the throne at 
all, but his father, Francis III., managed to get him¬ 
self elected after the murder of his cousin in place of 
the present King of the Southern Slavs. There is, as 
it happens, both there and in this country, a party 
which wants to see Styria included in the new king¬ 
dom of the Southern Slavs. There is also an unknown 
quantity—the Crown Prince.” He looked quizzically 
at the boy. “You see,” he went on, “I’m trying to 
make sense of certain isolated bits of information which 
have been reaching us during the last few days.” 

“About the Crown Prince?” 

“Yes. For an Heir Apparent in the Balkans the 
Crown Prince of Styria is a singularly retiring young 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 213 

man. He has never figured in any scandal. And 
he is not one of those princelings who are constantly 
being photographed for the press. Practically noth¬ 
ing is known about him, but—well, two years ago he 
was in England for some reason we never properly 
discovered, and now in a roundabout way we have 
heard that he is coming again, in the strictest incognito, 
to London, either this week or next, and the long and 
the short of it is this. We want to know why this 
visit is being made, and if possible any results it may 
have. Our informant may be mistaken—he admits 
that he may have put two and two together to make 
five—but he tells us that a suite has been engaged for 
the Prince at the Royal Court Hotel in Mount Place. 
You probably don’t know of the existence of this 
hotel. It is not very large, and it doesn’t advertise. 
But it is very quiet and old-fashioned and discreet. 
There’s generally some foreign Royalty staying there, 
but the public doesn’t know, and the reporters are some¬ 
how kept out. Our American friends haven’t dis¬ 
covered it, and probably never will. But it is an im¬ 
portant hotel, as far as we are concerned. Our usual 
agents, however, are fairly well known there, and I 
want somebody who isn’t known at all. You begin 
to understand ? I want you to go to this hotel at once, 
and keep your eyes widely open.” 

“I see. You want me to shadow the Crown 
Prince?” 

Mr. Esmonde smiled. “Not exactly. Shadow is 
hardly the right word. Sooner or later a man is bound 
to find out that he is being shadowed. No, I just want 


214 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

you there in the hotel, taking any steps you consider 
judicious to find out the true state of affairs, but not 
undertaking any regular espionage. We have nothing 
against the Crown Prince. Nothing whatever. His 
visit may be one of mere pleasure—a little private 
spree. If so, well and good. You will earn your fee 
easily enough. But—we don’t know. And as for 
yourself—register at the hotel under your own name, 
and if anybody is inquisitive about you, well, there is 
your grandfather to talk about. Sir Oswald probably 
knew of the Royal Court Hotel, even if he never stayed 
there. And some distinguished generals do leave large 
fortunes to their grandsons, don’t they?” 

It was now Mr. Prince’s turn to smile. “Then for 
the time being,” he said, “I shall not apparently be 
working for a living in London?” 

“Exactly. You will be up from your ancestral 
estates, to attend a Board Meeting, let us say, of the 
Farnham Company. And of course for a little enjoy¬ 
ment as well.” 

There came a pause. Obviously this new adventure 
was going to be one after his own heart. “And about 
the Crown Prince,” he asked. “Do you know what 
name he will take?” 

“Not for certain. No, I’m afraid you’ll have to 
find out that for yourself.” 

“I see. Can you give me any information about his 
appearance ?” 

“There’s a photograph of him as a boy in Umfre- 
ville’s book, and Eve got somewhere—yes, here it is 
—a snapshot taken four years ago at a military review. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 215 

Unfortunately it is very poor, and as I was telling you, 
the Press agencies don’t seem to have any. These 
papers here, by the way, won’t help you very much, 
and in all probability the less you know about things 
beforehand, the better. I want a fresh mind 
altogether on the little problem. I don’t doubt that 
you will be able to discover him quickly enough when 
and if he comes, but I don’t want to give you a lot of 
detailed instructions which would probably be under¬ 
going alterations all the time. Use your own judg¬ 
ment. So I suggest that you drive up to the hotel in 
the course of the day, and engage a good suite. You 
needn’t worry too much about your expenses. The 
hotel is not cheap.” 

Mr. Prince grinned broadly. “I think I under¬ 
stand,” said he. 

“Good. Then here’s some money to be going on 
with, and if you want more, ring me up. I’ll give 
you my private number. Oh, and that daughter of 
mine wants to know whether you’ll dine with us on 
Friday.” 

“Oh, I say, thanks most awfully, but—shan’t I 
be—er, oughtn’t I to be at the hotel?” 

“Not necessarily. You can’t always be in the hotel. 
That might look suspicious, if people became interested 
in you, as of course they might. No, just be your 
usual self. See any friends you like, and—have a 
good time.” He held out his hand. “And good luck 
to you.” 

Mr. Prince looked very pleased. “It’s ripping of 
you, Mr. Esmonde, to give me this chance.” 


216 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“That’s all right. I fancy you’re to be trusted. But 
it is rather important, and I don’t want you to do 
anything rash.” 

Mr. Prince nodded. “I think there are times,” he 
said solemnly, “when I can be devilish cunning.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” laughed Mr. Esmonde, and 
brought the interview to an end. 

So it happened that at five o’clock that afternoon 
the grandson of General Sir Oswald Prince, V.C., was 
once again on duty in his country’s service. 


CHAPTER XXII 


After the Ritz and the Savoy the Royal Court 
seemed small and not very smart. The entrance was 
tiny, and, once inside, you were liable to lose your way, 
for there were winding passages and unexpected stair¬ 
cases, and suites of rooms squeezed in somehow be¬ 
tween the regular floors. It was not like a London 
hotel at all. No orchestra played in the dining-room, 
and the servants did not appear in plush breeches and 
silk stockings and with their hair neatly whitened. In¬ 
stead, as Mr. Prince noted with amusement, they wore 
a shabby blue livery which, at a casual glance, was not 
very different from naval uniform. Yet he could not 
have asked for a more comfortable suite than the one 
on the second floor that was given him. It was, he 
thought, the joiliest little flat, with its tiny hall, sitting- 
room, bedroom and bathroom. It was terrifically 
expensive, of course, and at this rate the £30 given him 
for expenses would not last very long, but, as Mr. 
Esmonde had said, on a government investigation of 
this kind, what did expenses matter? 

He dressed for dinner, and made his way down to 
one of the public rooms. As yet he had not the least 
idea as to what course of action he should pursue, but 
was comfortably convinced that his good luck would 
as usual come to his aid. His preparations had been 
217 


218 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

meagre. He had skimmed through Lord Umfre- 
ville’s book in his room in Half Moon Street, and 
decided that neither of the photographs would be of 
much assistance. The Royal youth, he considered, 
looked disappointingly ordinary, and the Royal in¬ 
spector of troops looked like a thousand other men 
doing the same thing in a more or less gorgeous 
uniform. He had written his name in the visitors’ 
book, and cast a hurried glance at the other names on 
the page, but they had not been helpful. Now he 
looked about him, but no one conformed in the least 
to his idea of a prince, Styrian or otherwise. A most 
ordinary-looking lot of people—on the dowdy side. 

Well, there was no hurry. Mr. Esmonde expected 
him to be two or three weeks on his investigation. 
He could go very leisurely to work. . . . 

Two ladies came in, and sat near him, and talked 
bridge in loud voices. A man with a short fair beard 
bade him good evening, and sat down at a desk. And 
then on a sudden the adventure jerked itself forward 
on familiar lines. 

A young man in a dinner-jacket had strolled in and 
was glancing idly about him. He saw Mr. Prince, 
and stared. He hesitated for a moment, and then 
came up. 

“Why, hallo, Oxney!” He held out his hand. 

Mr. Prince smiled. “Sorry,” he said, “but you’ve 
made the usual mistake. I’m supposed to be like Lord 
Oxney—I think I am—but my name is Oliver Prince. 
Oxney and I are friends, as it happens, but-” 

“Oh!” The young man seemed taken aback. 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 219 

“What a stupid mistake!” Then he laughed. “So 
you know him? I haven’t seen him for some time, 
but you two really are extraordinarily alike. My 
name, by the way, is Ronald Armstrong.” He took 
out his cigarette-case. “Staying here?” he asked 
casually. 

“For a while,” replied Mr. Prince, accepting a 
cigarette. “You too?” 

“Yes. I generally stay here when I come to 
London.” He was still looking curiously at Mr. 
Prince. “Wasn’t Oxney greatly amused when he first 
met you?” 

“I think he was. Funny how things happen, isn’t 
it?” 

“Funny things, I find, are always happening, 
wherever you go. Life’s funny.” 

“Life,” said Mr. Prince oracularly, “is jolly good 
fun.” 

“Yes,” agreed the other, “if you’ve found the right 
girl to share it with you.” 

“That’s what I meant.” 

“And if the right girl thinks you’re the right man. 
Don’t forget that little point.” 

“She wouldn’t be the right girl,” rejoined Mr. 
Prince, rather amused, “if she didn’t do that.” He 
smiled up at the ceiling as he leant back in his chair. 
He was wondering just then whether government 
secrets might be legitimately shared with daughters of 
high officials at the Foreign Office. Stupidly Mr. 
Esmonde had said nothing at all on that point. But 
Doris was certain to find out that he wasn’t in Half 


220 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

Moon Street, and she knew that her father had wired 
for him. On the other hand she might not know why 
he had been sent for. Well, he could tell her when 
his mission was over. . . . And how jolly it was to 
meet this man Armstrong: he seemed a very decent 
chap, the sort of fellow to make friends with very 
easily. “Yes,” he continued, “if she doesn’t make you 
her best pal, she’s not the right girl.” 

“Pal?” repeated Armstrong, and looked doubtfully 
at him. “But you don’t want only to be best pals. 
A man will do for your best pal.” 

“If she and you are not good pals,” retorted Mr. 
Prince, and he spoke with the assurance of a much- 
married, middle-aged man, “you might just as well 
not marry at all. That’s why people get divorced— 
because they don’t remain pals after they’re married.” 

Armstrong laughed. “I dare say you’re right,” 
he acknowledged, “though I’ve never looked at the 
question in that light before. But I don’t agree with 
you about the right girl not being the right girl if she 
doesn’t believe you’re the right man. If you’re really 
in love with her, she must remain the right girl.” 

Mr. Prince cocked his head. “That depends on 
what you mean by the word ‘right.’ Now it’s my 

experience-” An old-fashioned gong sounded. 

“Hullo, dinner. I say, are you alone? Shall we dine 
together ?” 

“By all means. I want to hear more about your 
theories of love.” 

“Oh, I don’t have any theories. Things of that 
sort just seem to happen. You find yourself getting 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 221 


pally with a girl, and she becomes pally with you, and 
—er, all that sort of thing. But that’s all.” 

“I expect,” said Armstrong with a smile, “you’re 
luckier than most of us. However, let’s dine. And 
afterwards? I thought of going to the play.” 

“I should like to go, too,” said Mr. Prince, rising 
up, “but I’m afraid—:—»” He quickly sat down again. 
A tall, distinguished-looking, clean-shaved man in full 
evening dress had come into the room. His dark hair 
was brushed straight back from his forehead. He 
glanced round the room, sat down in a corner by the 
door, and lit a cigarette. And Mr. Prince stared. 

“Know him?” asked Armstrong. 

“No. Do you?” 

“No. He’s a Count Something-or-other, I heard 
a waiter say. Looks very pleased with himself, doesn’t 
he? Well, shall we dine? If I am going to a theatre, 
I ought to feed soon.” 

“Righto,” said Mr. Prince, and they walked out 
together. 

At dinner Ronald Armstrong proved to be a most 
agreeable companion. Mr. Prince gathered that he 
had been at Harrow and Oxford, and that he had 
travelled abroad. And not altogether to his surprise 
he learnt that his new friend hoped shortly to be 
married. Absolutely the right girl for him, but— 
well, it was not all plain sailing. Women were curious 
creatures who did not always know their own minds. 
Mr. Prince agreed, but inclined to the belief that you 
had only to take no notice of their silly moods to win 
through. Armstrong wished that he could think so. 



222 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


It must depend, he declared, on the girl. Mr. Prince 
argued that a man had to learn how each girl ought to 
be treated, but once such knowledge had been acquired, 
the rest was simple. In his own case. . . . Without 
altogether meaning to do so, he launched out into a 
detailed description of the multiple charms of an 
anonymous young lady who bore a strong resemblance 
to Miss Doris Esmonde. Whereupon Armstrong, not 
to be outdone, described another anonymous young lady 
whose horsemanship was as superb as her figure, and 
whose voice was as sweet as her lips. Mr. Prince 
agreed that she must be astonishingly beautiful, and 
the health of both ladies was drunk with all due 
solemnity. 

As it happened, moreover, Mr. Prince was enabled, 
quite unexpectedly, to combine business with pleasure. 
After dinner a taxicab was ordered for Armstrong, 
and the two young men stood in the hall waiting for 
it. And then Armstrong casually mentioned the fact 
that he would be wanting a private car for a week or 
two, and sought Mr. Prince’s advice. 

“But how extraordinary!” 

The other looked puzzled. “Why extraordinary?” 

“Well, I’m—interested in cars. As a matter of 
fact I’m a director of Farnham Automobiles Limited. 
I expect you’ve heard of us. I can get you any sort 
of car you want, and most frightfully cheap. We can 
go round to the garage in the morning if you like. 
It’s fairly close to the hotel.” 

“Thanks very much. Lucky I mentioned it. Well, 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 223 

there’s my cab. I’m sorry you can’t come with me. 
See you to-morrow.” 

“As early as you like,” said Mr. Prince, and walked 
up to his suite. 

A good beginning, he thought. He was prepared 
to like Ronald Armstrong, who seemed a good sports¬ 
man. With, of course, plenty of money. At dinner 
champagne had been drunk—at his expense. And it 
certainly looked as though he would prove to be a good 
customer to the Company. He himself might have 
gone to the theatre, but perhaps it would be as well 
to begin taking his bearings at once. Already there 
were one or two little matters which would have to 
be investigated. But—on the whole, a very good be¬ 
ginning. 

He remained for some time upstairs, but at ten 
o’clock walked down into the hall. He chatted for a 
while to the reception-clerk, and discussed the Irish 
situation and other matters with one of the porters. 
Then, as he was strolling into one of the public rooms 
a gorgeous lady in yellow dropped her bag almost at 
his feet. Mr. Prince picked it up, and was thanked 
very prettily in French. He pretended to understand 
what she was saying, and smiled and bowed. The 
lady was really very gorgeous indeed. He had an¬ 
other conversation with a porter, mostly about sport, 
and after a desultory voyage of exploration, found 
himself in the smoking-room. Here two men were 
playing chess, while a third watched the game. One 
of the players was the tall distinguished-looking man 


224 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

he had seen before—his name, he had managed to dis¬ 
cover, was Count Ostruc—and the other was small 
and fat, a globular person with sleek black hair and a 
waxed moustache. The man who was watching was 
the man with the short fair beard who had wished 
Mr. Prince good evening. All seemed engrossed in 
the game. 

Mr. Prince ordered a whisky-and-soda, and sat 
down. He knew nothing about chess, but watched 
with interest. A difficult game, chess, he pre¬ 
sumed. . . . 

Ronald Armstrong, it seemed, was usually a late 
riser, but at ten-thirty the next morning he was taken 
to the garage where it was arranged that he should 
have the newest car, with a chauffeur, for a week on 
specially favourable terms. 

Half an hour later Mr. Prince embarked upon his 
campaign. From a public telephone-box he spoke to 
Mr. Esmonde. At noon he was back in the hotel, 
carrying out a further investigation of its geographical 
peculiarities. He lunched alone, and observed with 
some interest that Count Ostruc and the lady whose 
bag he had picked up were sitting together at one of 
the corner tables. In the afternoon he played billiards 
with the marker, and while he was playing, the man 
with the short fair beard came in. 

The marker seemed pleased to see him. “After¬ 
noon, Mr. Merrill,” said he. “I expected you in a 
little earlier. We’ve got a young champion here.” 

The bearded man nodded pleasantly, and in a few 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 225 

minutes was applauding a delicate stroke which restored 
Mr. Prince’s favourable position. And when the game 
was over, he suggested himself as an opponent. Mr. 
Prince agreed, and they played. The boy was just 
beaten, but he did not mind very much. Obviously 
Mr. Merrill was a much better player than himself, 
and he had played a thoroughly sporting game. 
Afterwards they watched two other players for a while. 
Mr. Merrill talked amusingly enough, but Mr. Prince 
was not sure that he liked him. He could not quite 
place the man. His clothes were what the boy privately 
termed “wrong,” and there was a peculiar note in his 
voice. Not quite a gentleman, Mr. Prince decided. 
And then Mr. Merrill said something which forced all 
Mr. Prince’s devilish cunning to the fore. 

“I fancy I saw you last night with Mr. Armstrong.” 
“Yes.” 

“Known him for long?” 

Mr. Prince hesitated for no more than a moment. 
“No,” he replied casually. “I never saw him before 
yesterday in my life.” 

“I see.” Mr. Merrill was slowly nodding his head. 
“Tried to borrow money from you yet?” 

“No,” said the boy, thinking hard. 

“Well, it’s none of my business, and you mustn’t 
think it impertinent of me, but if I were you I shouldn’t 
have much to do with that young man.” He looked 
at his watch. “Hullo. Four o’clock. I must be off. 
You shall have your revenge some time.” He smiled, 
said a few words to the marker, and went out. 

“So that’s that,” muttered Mr. Prince, and for 


226 the TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


a long time continued to watch the game. He saw, 
however, little enough of the play. . . . 

From that moment he was exceedingly busy. He 
spent quite a long time in the post office round the 
corner in Mount Street, trying to get a trunk call. 
He saw Armstrong for a moment or two after dinner, 
and heard that the car had behaved exceedingly well. 
And, late at night, he lost his way in the hotel, and 
found himself on an iron stairway built on to the 
outside walls in case of fire. It was a warm night, 
and for some little time he enjoyed the view. Several 
windows were open, and he could hear people 
talking. . . . 

The next morning he was at the post office tel¬ 
ephone again but afterwards he did not leave the hotel 
until the evening. He played billiards with the marker 
for a while, and then it seemed that he was not the 
only one to lose his way in this singular hotel, for 
by chance he found Mr. Merrill, obviously at sea, on 
the wrong floor. Later on the lady with the bag took 
pity on his loneliness, and sat down beside him in the 
drawing-room. She spoke very poor English, but 
managed to make herself understood. An attractive 
woman, Mr. Prince thought, but perhaps rather 
inquisitive. 

He dined in Chelsea, and temporarily forgot his 
commission. No awkward questions were asked, and 
for the time being Styria was wiped off the face of 
the map. He played one game of billiards, and then 
Doris produced a gramophone, and they danced by 
themselves in a small space at the far end of the room. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 227 

It was .great fun, because you had to be so frightfully 
careful. 

It was on the third day that Mr. Prince became 
definitely uneasy. He was conscious that something 
was wrong, and yet—what was it ? What exactly was 
happening about him ? What moreover, was he expect¬ 
ing to happen in the near future? There was some¬ 
thing afoot, but what? He had managed to learn one 
or two curious facts, but what did they mean? And 
what had happened to Armstrong? They had break¬ 
fasted together, and, as before, Armstrong had spoken 
enthusiastically of his anonymous lady. Yet this 
morning—-well, had there been some subtle difference 
in the man? Was he nervous? Was he keyed up in 
some curious way which suggested something im¬ 
minent, something of unusual importance ? Mr. Prince 
could not define his own thoughts. And was it his 
imagination, or were people really watching his own 
movements ? More important, had somebody been 
into his suite while he was out? 

“I don’t like this place,” he decided, and then cursed 
himself for a timorous infant. 

That night he could not sleep. He had seen Arm¬ 
strong after dinner, and found him greatly excited. 
His excitement, however, seemed natural, for it ap¬ 
peared that the anonymous lady had at last come to 
her senses. Mr. Prince had ventured to offer his 
congratulations, and indulged in a little philosophy with 
regard to the emotion of love. He had bowed to 
Count Ostruc, who was with the gorgeous lady, and 
gone early to bed. But sleep would not come, and 


228 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

Mr. Prince tossed about, and listened to the gentle 
murmur of the traffic, and wondered whether he had 
been wise to accept Mr. Esmonde’s commission. 

How long he lay half-awake he did not know, but 
suddenly he sat up and listened intently. Traffic out¬ 
side had now ceased, but there were queer muffled 
sounds close by him. He got out of bed, and put on a 
pair of trousers and his old naval greatcoat which 
served as a dressing-gown, and stood in the tiny hall 
by the door. Very cautiously he opened it, and peered 
out. At first he could see nothing at all. The cor¬ 
ridor gave a turn a few yards to the left, and there 
was no light at his end. Gradually, however, he was 
able to distinguish the door of the opposite suite. A 
faint glow was coming from a light round the bend. 
And then he heard footsteps. He pulled the door 
nearly to, and caught a glimpse of Ronald Armstrong 
creeping by. Once again there were curious sounds. 
He opened the door an inch or two farther and listened. 
Somebody was whispering at the end of the passage. 
Somebody also was moving round the bend. Mr. 
Prince stepped out. 

And suddenly a man rushed at him and thrust a 
small packet into his hands, and disappeared. 

Instinctively Mr. Prince stepped back into the hall. 
For a moment he stood still. There were more foot¬ 
steps, but the whispering had ceased. 

Ten minutes later he had turned on the reading- 
lamp in his bedroom, and was examining the contents 
of the packet which had so mysteriously been put into 
his hands. It was a small wash-leather bag, and in- 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 229 

side there was a pearl necklace, the clasp of which was 
in the form of a crown held aloft by a bear. 

For a long time Mr. Prince stared at the necklace, 
and could not believe his own eyes. The pearls them¬ 
selves were splendidly large, but he was more interested 
in the clasp. That bear with the crown—he had seen 
it before, in Lord Umfreville’s book. 

The Royal Arms of Styria. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


It is not given to all men to have a pearl necklace 
thrust thus unceremoniously into their hands in the 
middle of the night. When it does happen, it is advis¬ 
able to do nothing in a hurry. It is not difficult to 
believe that a crime of some kind has been committed, 
even though that crime has not taken the exact course 
which the criminal had intended. It is necessary, how¬ 
ever, to take some steps without too much delay. Even 
more important than the restoration of stolen property 
to its owner is the safe-guarding of oneself. It is not 
always easy to make an unimaginative policeman or 
even a scholarly magistrate believe your story. 

For nearly an hour Mr. Prince sat on his bed, 
and thought very hard, and could not make up his 
mind what to do. Two points, however, had become 
clear. In the first place his plan of campaign would 
have to be changed, for it had not taken into con¬ 
sideration a necklace which so obviously belonged to 
the Crown Prince, and in the second place, he had not 
the smallest intention of allowing the thief, who had 
apparently blundered so stupidly, to retrieve his 
mistake. At the same time he had no desire to be 
taken to a police station with stolen property on his 
person. As soon as the loss of the necklace was dis¬ 
covered, there would probably be a high old rumpus in 
230 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 231 

the hotel, and the police might flock in and search 
every suite. And whatever happened, a government 
agent, even though he couldn’t be officially acknowl¬ 
edged, must not be found with the pearls in his pocket. 
What to do ? 

In an ordinary case, he saw, there would be no 
difficulty at all. A stolen necklace came into your 
possession. You knew who the real owner was. 
Naturally you went straight to him, handed him back 
his property, and left him to take what steps he chose. 
But there were several excellent reasons why any such 
course was impossible, the chief one being that with 
thieves about the necklace might not be safe in its 
owner’s possession. Therefore some exceptional plan 
must be evolved, and after a period of the most intense 
concentration, an exceptional plan—indeed a devilish 
cunning plan—suddenly presented itself to Mr. Prince’s 
mind. He smiled happily to himself, and rose from 
the bed. 

The plan demanded instant execution. Mr. Prince 
went to a desk in his sitting-room, and tied up the 
packet as neatly as he could. Then he put on a suit 
over his pyjamas and a muffler round his neck. For 
a while he listened, but all seemed quiet. He walked 
out into the corridor with the pearls in his pocket, and 
listened again. And now his explorations came in 
handy, for he knew that at the end of the passage there 
was a door which led to the servants’ quarters. He 
found this door, silently opened it, and ran down the 
stone steps. 

He reached the front hall, and after listening again, 


232 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

darted past the reception-office, where a solitary oil- 
lamp was burning, hid the pearls where they were not 
likely to be found, turned back, and regained the 
stairs. 

The plan, however, was by no means completed. 

Once again out of the servants' quarters he did 
not immediately return to his own suite. Instead, he 
went boldly into Ronald Armstrong’s rooms, and 
turned on the light, and gave that young man the 
surprise of his life. 

At seven o’clock in the morning he was awakened 
from a confused dream, but not by the usual valet. 
The man with the short fair beard was standing by 
his bed. 

“Er—hallo, what’s that?” Mr. Prince was rubbing 
his eyes. “What’s the time? Why, it’s Mr. Merrill!” 

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Prince, at this hour, 
but there’s been a robbery in the hotel. A pearl neck¬ 
lace belonging to Count Ostruc has been stolen. I am 
Detective-Inspector Merrill of Scotland Yard.” 

“Good gracious!” cried Mr. Prince, becoming 
suddenly wide awake. “You a detective! Lord! 
And you say there’s been a robbery? How awful! 
But what have I got to do with it?” 

Inspector Merrill seemed embarrassed. “The Count 
seemed to think you know something about it.” 

“I? What an extraordinary thing! Why, the 
Count doesn’t know me. We just bow, but that’s all. 
I’m—I say, you know, Mr. Merrill, I’m not a thief.” 

“Quite so, but-” 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 233 

“You’re not going to arrest me, are you?” 

“Certainly not, Mr. Prince. Count Ostruc is most 
anxious not to prosecute. He wishes the whole affair 
to be kept secret. In fact I have the strictest 
orders-” 

“But look here, I haven’t got the necklace. How 
could I possibly have the necklace? I didn’t know 
anything about a pearl necklace—until this morning.” 

“The Count seemed to think-” 

“Oh, damn the Count. I tell you, I haven’t got 
the necklace, and I haven’t the slightest idea where it 
is.” 

Inspector Merrill looked sharply at him, and when 
he spoke his voice had taken on a more official tone. 
“There is evidence to show that it is or has been in 
your possession.” 

Mr. Prince stared. “Evidence ?” he repeated frown¬ 
ing. “What evidence ?” 

“And I’m afraid,” continued his visitor, “it will be 
my duty to conduct a search in your rooms.” 

The frown slowly disappeared to give place to a 
smile, the smile changed into a grin, and the grin 
metamorphosed itself into a yawn. “Oh, you can 
search if you want to, but I’m awfully tired, and I 
do wish you would go away now, and come back later 
on, when I’ve had my tea. I have tea brought to me 
in bed, you know.” 

The Inspector was staring fixedly at him. “Don’t 
you think it will save all unpleasantness if—well, what 
shall we say?—if you just tell us where the necklace is 
at this moment ?” 




234 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“I’ve told you. I haven’t the slightest idea where it 
is. Of course it may be in this room, but if it is, I 
can’t think how it has got here. You’d better search, 
Inspector, or”—he suddenly sat up—“or I’ll tell you 
what. Count Ostruc, you say, thinks I’ve had some¬ 
thing to do with the theft. That means, I suppose, 
he practically accuses me of taking it. Well, the best 
thing will be for him to accuse me in person, and if 
you like, I’ll come with you to him at once, and get 
the thing done with.” 

There was a little pause. The Inspector seemed 
doubtful. Then he abruptly walked out of the room. 
Mr. Prince could hear him whispering to someone in 
the little hall. In a minute or two he was back. 
“Very well,” he said, “but you must excuse me if I 
remain here while you dress.” 

“Oh, certainly,” smiled the boy. “Have a cigarette.” 

Fifteen minutes later he was following the Inspector 
to a suite on the floor below. Here, in a sitting-room, 
were standing two men—the fat little man with the 
waxed moustache and a thin dark man whom he 
vaguely remembered to have seen somewhere before. 
They had obviously dressed very quickly. 

“Mr. Prince-” began Merrill. 

“Ah, yes.” The fat little man bowed. “He wishes, 
I understand, to speak to us in private. Perhaps you 
would not mind waiting outside, Inspector, for a few 
minutes.” 

The Inspector went out. 

“Now, Mr. Prince, please sit down. This is a very 
unfortunate and mysterious affair. I gather that you 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 23* 

wish to see Count Ostruc, but please let me say at 
once that he does not accuse you of being the thief. 
No. I beg you will not think that. But it seems 
that the real thief—and we know who he is—in his 
hurry to escape detection, handed over the necklace to 
you.” 

“But how do you know all this? Were you there?” 

The fat little man smiled. “No,” he replied, “but 
this robbery was not altogether unexpected. Inspector 
Merrill has been on duty with his assistants all night. 
The thief himself has not-” 

He stopped. An inner door had opened, and Count 
Ostruc, as usual beautifully dressed, came into the 
room. He bowed to Mr. Prince. “Ah,” said he, “it 
is kind of you to come to us in our trouble. I appre¬ 
ciate the awkward position in which some wretch of a 
thief has placed you. Have no fear at all. The 
matter shall go no further. Our good friend Merrill 
is clever, but—he was too abrupt? You distrusted 
him? You prefer to hand over the necklace to its 
owner ?” 

“Of course I do,” said Mr. Prince. 

“Excellent.” The Count was smiling. “And I 
need hardly say how grateful to you I shall be.” He 
held out his hand. 

“Oh, but you see, I’m afraid I can’t— : —” 

The Count was still smiling. “I see what you are 
thinking. You have examined that clasp. You have 
seen the Royal Arms. Well, I must let you into my 
little secret, I suppose. Here I am known as Count 
Ostruc, and that is the name by which I desire you to 




236 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

continue to know me, but it is not my real name. I 
am,” he finished simply, ‘The Crown Prince of Styria.” 

The man with the waxed moustache made an 
absurd little bow. The thin man stepped back a pace 
and straightened himself. 

If Mr. Prince was astonished, he did not show it. 
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “but if you were the 
King of England himself, I couldn’t give you the neck¬ 
lace. It isn’t in the hotel.” 

Count Ostruc’s demeanour altered. His figure 
stiffened. There was a frown on his forehead. 
“Explain, please,” he said sternly. 

“Well, you see, I thought the necklace might be 
stolen again, so I took measures to get rid of it.” 

“You know where it is?” demanded the fat little 
man with obvious eagerness. 

“I’ve already told the Insp-” 

The door opened, and a man peered in. Mr. 
Prince turned to see Merrill sign negatively to the 
Count. 

“Oh, no,” the boy continued, “it isn’t in my rooms. 
It isn’t in the hotel at all. I keep on telling everybody 
that, though they don’t seem to believe me. And isn’t 
it breakfast time? I’m most fearfully hungry. I 
really shouldn’t worry about the necklace,” he added, 
addressing the man with the waxed moustache. “It’s 
sure to be returned to the Crown Prince sooner or 
later, and as long as he doesn’t believe me to be the 
thief-” 

Then, instinctively, he braced himself, for the thin 
man was creeping round to his left, and the fat little 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 237 

man was fumbling in his pocket. Count Ostruc, how¬ 
ever, waved them back. “Perhaps,” he said softly, “it 
is a question of a reward for your trouble, Mr. 
Prince ?” 

The boy cocked his head. Miss Jennings, he was 
thinking, was a very pleasant old lady, but she certainly 
knew the value of money. “D’you think I ought to 
have a reward?” he asked doubtfully. 

The Count smiled again. “‘My secretary shall pay 
you £500 on receipt of the necklace.” 

“Oh, in that case,” replied Mr. Prince smiling too, 
“I might reconsider my position. But I can’t get the 
necklace at the minute. Would this afternoon suit 
you ?” 

“Where have you hidden it?” 

“Oh, it’s quite safe, but I can’t lay my hands on 
it at the moment. You see, I didn’t think there would 
be a reward offered for its recovery, and then-” 

“Mr. Prince, I don’t understand you. You refuse 
to restore stolen property to its owner until you are 
paid. You refuse to say what you have done with 
the necklace. Very well, you understand your posi¬ 
tion? You have already admitted that the necklace 
has been in your possession— : —” 

“Unless I dreamt it,” interrupted the boy. “It 
was a very odd business to happen in the middle of 
the night in an expensive hotel like this.” 

“That may be, but in the presence of witnesses, 
you have made certain important admissions. I make 

no direct accusation, but-” he paused significantly, 

“you will forgive me if I point out to you that it will 





238 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

be Inspector Merrill’s duty to watch your movements 
until-” 

“Oh, rather! I shan’t mind that a bit as long as 
he doesn’t actually arrest me. I suppose that would 
be shadowing, wouldn’t it? It must be rather interest¬ 
ing to be a detective,” he chuckled. “Five hundred 
pounds! What a lucky thing for me that the silly 
thief made such a mistake! He must have taken my 
old naval coat for the hotel livery. Yes, I used to be 
in the Navy, you know. Probably that’s why I woke 
up when I heard the thief prowling about. But of 
course I know who he was—you do, too, don’t you?— 
and so it doesn’t much matter, does it ? Well, shall we 
say three o’clock here for the necklace? That would 
suit me very well. And could I be paid in notes? 
British notes, of course, because the Exchange is so 
funny these days, isn’t it? I mean, you never quite 
know how much a note is worth, unless it’s in dollars 
or pounds. And even pounds sometimes don’t make 

up quite so many dollars as they-- But I mustn’t 

keep you any longer, and I dare say it’ll take me a little 
time to get hold of the necklace again.” He looked 
round the room. Then he bowed very formally to 
the Count, smiled very sweetly, and went out. 

In the passage Inspector Merrill stood waiting. 
Near to him was the lady who had tried to be friendly. 

“Oh, Inspector,” said Mr. Prince, “you’re to watch 
my movements. Shadow me, you know. So I’d 
better tell you what I’m going to do. I’m first going 
to telephone to some friends of mine from the post 
office box round the corner. Much better to use the 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 239 

post office box, because I dare say they listen to what 
you’re saying in the hotel. And then I’m going to 
eat a colossal breakfast. And I’m going to have cream 
with my porridge. And then I suppose I shall have to 
get that necklace for you. It was clever of you to 
know that I’d had something to do with it. But then, 
of course, you’ve got to be clever, haven’t you, or they’d 
never make you an Inspector, would they? Not a 
Scotland Yard Inspector, I mean. And we must have 
another game of billiards to celebrate the recovery of 
the necklace. We might play after tea to-day if that’s 
convenient. Or will you have to go back to the 
Yard?” 

And then, because the Inspector did not seem to be 
enjoying this little speech, Mr. Prince dodged suddenly 
backwards, and ran downstairs. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


Yes, they were watching him, and it was the greatest 
possible fun. And in a few minutes’ time Mr. 
Esmonde would have come to the hotel, and more 
inspectors, and he would be having the time of his life. 

He helped himself to more marmalade. Really, 
there was something to be said for these secret govern¬ 
ment jobs. They might not make your fortune for 
you, but they were undeniably exciting. In fact it 
might be worth considering the advisability of asking 
for some permanent job under the Foreign Office: as 
King’s Messenger or something like that. Mr. 
Esmonde could probably get it for him. And yet— 
could you hope to live in a large house with a 
beautifully-dressed wife who gave dinner-parties, and 
a marble bathroom and footmen, on mere adventures? 
You could not. A pity, but there it was. Fifty 
guineas for three days’ work was good enough pay, 
but then he was not an official agent. If the Govern¬ 
ment employed you regularly, your pay was miserably 
small, and you had to wait years for promotion. True, 
you might be serving your country, but you could also 
serve your country in a financier’s office, and in that 
case you might be helping yourself at the same time. 

All the same, it had been a jolly little adventure, 
and its conclusion might be particularly thrilling. It 
240 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 241 

might be, but, to say truth, Mr. Prince did not think 
that it would. The big thrill had come and gone. 
That had been when for a whole hour he had played 
with a Royal necklace which was worth anything up 
to fifty thousand pounds. And he could have got away 
with it! Yes, he could have slipped out of the hotel, 
and walked round to Half Moon Street, and let him¬ 
self into his rooms there. And instead of being 
shadowed this morning in the Royal Court Hotel, he 
could have caught a train to the South Coast, and 
crossed the Channel and- 

A gentleman, he was told, was waiting to see him. 

He drank up his coffee, and went into the hall. 

'‘Well, my boy,” said Mr. Esmonde, “this is all 
very extraordinary. I’ve done what you asked, though 
I don’t understand what has happened. You say the 
whole-” 

“Come upstairs,” interrupted the boy; “we’re being 
watched here.” 

“The devil we are!” 

“Oh yes, and it’s the greatest fun, but I don’t want 
those fellows to hear what we’re saying. Come along, 
Mr. Esmonde. I’ve got lots to tell you, and I’ve found 
out all you wanted to know.” 

They walked upstairs. “Now,” said Mr. Esmonde, 
sitting down on a sofa in the second-floor suite, “you 
can explain matters. I take it the Crown Prince has 
arrived and been mixed up in-” 

“The Crown Prince,” said Mr. Prince, “ is a good 
fellow. I like him. He’s a little mad, but then he’s 
in love. That’s why he’s here, by the way.” 




242 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 
‘‘You mean,—*—” 

“Oh, very badly in love, Mr. Esmonde. I found 
that out at once. He can’t think of anything else, and 

I don’t know what would have happened if- You 

see, I met him almost as soon as I arrived. In fact he 
took me for Oxney, and we had dinner together. He 
didn’t tell me he was the Crown Prince—he called him¬ 
self Ronald Armstrong—but he did tell me he’d been 
to Harrow and Oxford, and, if you remember, Lord 
Umfreville mentions the Prince’s English education. 

I didn’t suspect who he was at first, but we began 
talking about girls, and he became most frightfully 
excited, and then it slipped out he’d come to England 
—not London, Mr. Esmonde, but England—to see one 
particular girl. And then, I don’t know, I became a 
little suspicious, because he never spoke about his people 
or said what his profession was or what part of the 
country he came from or anything, and he talked 
French to the waiters—well, not like an Englishman 
talks it, and—there were other little things which I 
pieced together. You do piece things together, you 
know, if you’ve been in the Navy. And I made certain 
by telephoning to Oxney. He didn’t know anybody 
called Ronald Armstrong, but he did know the Crown 
Prince of Styria who, two years ago, wanted to marry 
a sort of cousin of his.” 

“Not Lady Angela Melton?” cried Mr. Esmonde. 

Mr. Prince looked disappointed. “You knew, 
then?” 

“The merest rumour which nobody believed. Go 
on, my dear boy, you interest me enormously.” 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 243 

“Well, they’re definitely engaged now, and they’re 
going to be married almost at once. She lives some¬ 
where in Kent, and he has motored there every day in 
one of our cars. When he came here two years ago 
she refused him because she didn’t want to be a sort 
of toy queen. No hunting, you know, or anything of 
that kind. And the most frightfully strict etiquette or 
whatever they call it. I don’t blame her. But 

now- Well, I’ve found out what’s really going to 

happen in Styria. I found out at three o’clock this 

morning. The old king’s going to abdicate, and 

Styria’s going to be swallowed up by that other place 
whose name I can never remember. Slav some¬ 
thing. . . . The Prince explained the whole situation. 
I simply made him. Of course I told him why I was 
in the hotel. I had to do that, and I thought it didn’t 
matter very much, because he’s never going back. In 
fact I suppose he won’t be a Crown Prince any longer, 
but—just whatever he likes to call himself. And that 
reminds me. Armstrong was a real person, an old 
friend of his who was killed in the war. And it’s not 
a very uncommon name, so he took it. He was turn¬ 
ing out an old drawer, he told me, when he found one 
of Armstrong’s letters, and that gave him the idea. 
Yes, he told me all these things at three o’clock this 
morning. I’d gone to his rooms, you see, to blow 
him up. Such a fool, you know, to carry a valuable 
necklace about like that!” 

“Yes, but, my dear boy, this is just the one part 
of your story that I don’t understand in the least. 
You talked of a gang who were after the Prince, and 



244 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

I gather a necklace of his was stolen last night, and 
that you were able to give it him back. Then 
why-” 

“Oh no, Mr. Esmonde, I haven’t given it back. 
You see, I haven’t got it to give. It’ll all very amus¬ 
ing, because I’ve been offered a reward of £500. Yes, 
really! A frightfully lot of money, isn’t it? And the 
gang—well, that was what made me want to shake 
him. He knew about the gang all right, but he thought 
they were only out to knife him. Political assassina¬ 
tion and all that. Apparently in Styria they’re always 
trying to knife you, and you get quite accustomed to 
it. At any rate the Prince seemed to think it was 
quite usual even in a London hotel. And he wouldn t 
believe me when I told him the gang didn’t care a 
twopenny cuss about politics. Why, he didn t even 
know he’d been robbed! And you should have seen 
his face when I told him what had happened, and he 
found the pearls gone from his case. You see, that 
necklace is a sort of symbol in his family. They put 
it round their brides’ necks in the church. Which 
explains why he hasn’t given it to Lady Angela yet. 
That was what I was trying to explain to you on 
the telephone, but I expect I was a bit hurried, be¬ 
cause you see-” 

“Yes, but this gang, as you call them. How did 
you find out their existence?” 

“Oh, the gang.” Mr. Prince was looking at the 
crease in his trousers. “They’re not very clever, these 
international crooks, are they? I expect they’ve never 
been taught how to be really cunning. Otherwise I 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 245 

don’t understand how they come to make such silly 
mistakes. Of course I guessed pretty soon that some¬ 
thing was wrong, because after Merrill had warned 
me against Armstrong—the Crown Prince, I mean— 
I heard him talking to this Count Ostruc fellow and 
one of the servants here. They didn’t know I was on 
the iron staircase outside their room, but I was, and I 
heard a good deal. I didn’t quite get the whole hang 
of what they were talking about, but I did begin to 
understand why they didn’t want me to get friendly 
with the Prince. They thought, you see, I might 
interfere with their plans. Unwittingly of course. I 
didn’t know what they wanted to get out of him, but 
I knew it was something, and,—oh, then I got busy, 
you know, and hung about the place a bit, and picked 
up clues, and I found that the hotel servant for whom 
I’d been mistaken had once been the Prince’s valet, and 
been sacked. And then, you know, what do they go 
and do but actually hand over the necklace to me!” 

“But how exactly did it happen?” 

“Well, we’re not quite sure, but we think two of 
them must have hidden in his rooms, hoping to get 
the necklace while he was asleep; but one of them 
must have been clumsy, and the Prince woke up. I 
was awakened too. His suite is near to this one, 
and I must have seen him just after he had rushed 
out with a revolver. I suppose they heard his coming, 
and thought I was Bessier, the ex-valet, who’s head of 
the gang, by the way, and—there you are. And then, 
if you please, they try this colossal bluff! Of course 
I’d been wondering what they would do. I felt pretty 


246 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

certain they’d find out who had been given the neck¬ 
lace, but I didn’t know how they’d try to get it from 
me. Rather cute, don’t you think, what they did?” 

“But, my dear boy, I’m in a fog.” 

“Well, of course they didn’t know I’d been in the 
Navy. They thought I was just the ordinary sort of 
fellow who had met the Prince casually and took him 
for the man he pretended to be. So they tried to 
overawe me. Merrill pretended to be an inspector, 
and the Ostruc man made a beautiful stage prince, and 
they all bowed and scraped, and I nearly told them— 
I don’t know what I didn’t nearly tell them. It was 
rather good fun, you know, just as though I’d been 
engaged to act for the films. I’d never believed that 
such things really happened, 1 but then I expect when 
you’re dealing with Royalty, all sorts of peculiar things 
happen as a matter of course. A regular international 
gang, that’s what they are. Besides Merrill and 
Ostruc, there’s a little fellow with a beastly moustache, 
and the ex-valet, and another thin fellow, and the 
woman who tried to find out all about me. I told her 
a lovely story, by the way. Still, it was cute, you 
know. They couldn’t know what I knew, and I might 
so easily have given the necklace up when he said he 
was the Crown Prince. I mean, if I hadn’t got pally 
with the real Prince. It’s luck, of course, Mr. 
Esmonde.” He laughed quietly to himself. “D’ you 
think they still believe I’m going to produce the neck¬ 
lace this afternoon? I wonder! Five hundred 
pounds! And the joke of the thing is this. When 
1 Nor had the author. 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 247 

Armstrong—the Prince, I mean—and I were pow¬ 
wowing together this morning, he said he wanted to 
reward me. It’s a very valuable necklace, you see, 
and I wondered how much-” 

“But where is the necklace?” 

“In the post,” replied Mr. Prince smiling. “I 
happened to notice there was an early collection from 
the box in the hall. So I wrapped up the necklace in 
an envelope and addressed it to you, and slipped down 
and posted it. I went down the back way, because I 
was pretty certain they’d be watching for me, if I 
tried to get out of the hotel. I couldn’t register the 
packet, of course, but I thought it was worth taking 
the risk. You do take risks if-” 

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Esmonde was looking anxious. 
“I think you were fully justified, but we’d better have 
immediate inquiries made. I’ll get on to the post office. 
You’d better come with me perhaps.” 

“And miss the real police, Mr. Esmonde? I tel¬ 
ephoned to Scotland Yard, by the way. In your name. 
Thought it sounded better, coming from you. And 
I can’t possibly come until I’ve woken the Prince up. 
He sleeps most frightfully late in the mornings. I 
expect they all do in Styria.” 




CHAPTER XXV 


It was very curious. Mr. Prince could not under¬ 
stand it. In fact he was almost forced to the con¬ 
clusion that on occasions international crooks could 
be cunning. 

The police came with all speed to the Royal Court 
Hotel, but to little purpose. Count Ostruc, it seemed, 
had been suddenly and most unexpectedly called to 
Rome. He had left with his secretary and valet. The 
lady with the bag had also gone. As for Merrill he 
could not be found, not even in the billiard-room. 
Oddly enough, too, one of the hotel porters was 
missing —a new man, as it happened, with excellent 
credentials. 

So there were to be no further thrills. Well, he 
had not really expected that there would be. And 
yet it was a little disappointing. It would have been 
such fun to go into the witness-box, and tell the Court 
about his exciting adventures. The reporters would 
have flocked about him, and his photograph would 
have been in all the papers. They would certainly 
have mentioned his grandfather, and he might have 
become almost as well-known as the old boy himself. 
For naturally the whole world would want to be told 
about the necklace and the Crown Prince’s love affair. 
It was additionally vexing inasmuch as in all probabil- 
248 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 249 

ity Farnham Automobiles Limited would have ob¬ 
tained a splendid advertisement for nothing. 

And then Mr. Prince became a little ashamed of 
himself. It was a quite legitimate ambition of his 
to become as famous as his grandfather, but this 
ambition would have to be achieved through some 
worthier channel than a police court case. Besides, 
there was the Prince to be considered. He would 
not want all his private affairs to be dragged into 
the glare of publicity. Mr. Esmonde, too, would not 
want it known that he was in any way implicated. 
No, it might all be rather disappointing, but perhaps 
it was just as well that the gang had escaped. Sooner 
or later they would probably be caught. And in any 
case he had earned his fee in a very short time, and 
at a surprisingly small cost. The Prince, moreover, 
had as good as promised him a reward. Now, indeed, 
that he realized what had occurred, the Prince was ex¬ 
ceedingly grateful, and wanted him to meet Lady 
Angela, and proposed to give Mr. Esmonde all the 
information that the Foreign Office desired to have. 

So it was in a fairly cheerful mood that Mr. Prince 
gave up his suite at the Royal Court Hotel, and drove 
with Mr. Esmonde to Chelsea. It had been amusing 
to talk to high police officials, even though the thieves 
had escaped, and he was able to give them what he 
was assured was most valuable information, particu¬ 
larly about Merrill who, it seemed, was the only Eng¬ 
lishman in the gang. The pearls, moreover, duly 
arrived. 

That evening, too, there was a little dinner-party 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


250 

at the Esmondes’ house to celebrate the occasion. For 
some time beforehand Aunt Mabel had been in a state 
of the greatest agitation. But then she was very 
seldom asked to play hostess to Royalty. The Crown 
Prince, however, soon put the old lady at her ease, and 
when he had gone, she announced her intention of 
buying a new dress for his wedding. The evening, 
she considered, had been a great success. Mr. Prince 
fully agreed with her, for never before had Doris 
shown herself so unmistakably to be the right girl. 

At a late hour they were in the billiard-room by 
themselves. Mr. Prince had told her the whole story 
of the necklace, and was now endeavouring to show 
her a particularly difficult cannon which Merrill had 
brought off during their game. 

“He must have been very good,” said the girl. “I 
wish I’d been there to see him and the others. You 
do have exciting adventures, you know.” 

“I think I do,” he agreed, “but-” He hesi¬ 

tated. Dressing for dinner this evening, he had found 
himself slightly worried. As yet he did not know 
exactly what sum would be forthcoming from this 
particular adventure, but even if a reward came from 
the Prince handsome enough to pay that premium in 
Bournsea, he was not sure that he would be completely 
satisfied. He had refused to be a bank-clerk in order 
to make his fortune, and that fortune was slowly 
coming this way, but—he could hardly hope for a 
regular series of profitable adventures lasting his life¬ 
time, and what else was there? A directorship which 
really meant nothing but ordinary office-work. Was 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 251 

there then no way in which he could combine steady 
profit and adventure? A sort of business which was 
not to be dull routine? “You know, Doris,” he said 
now, “I’m most frightfully grateful to your father, but 
Eve been thinking. It’s jolly being a government 
agent, and getting necklaces and things, but—I don’t 
think I’d like to be always doing that kind of thing.” 

“No? Well, what do you want to do?” 

“That’s just it. I don’t know.” 

“But you must have some sort of idea in your head.” 

He looked at her. “Yes, I have,” he said. “I 
want to have a flat in Mount Street, and a house in 
the country. A large flat and a little house. I think 
I’ve got the house, as a matter of fact, just outside 
Bournsea, but that, you see, is for my mother. The 
flat, I suppose, will have to wait. Mount Street’s very 
expensive.” 

“But why a large flat?” 

“Well, naturally it would have to be a large flat, 
because I’d be married.” 

“Oh! But you can’t marry at nineteen.” 

“I could ” said Mr. Prince, “but I thought of post¬ 
poning it till I’m twenty-one.” 

There came a pause. The girl was apparently in¬ 
terested in the nap of the cloth. “I wonder what sort 
of girl you’ll marry,” she casually remarked. 

Mr. Prince assumed his most judicial air. “I 
think,” he said, “she’d have brown hair with bits of 
gold in it, and she’d dress well, and—we’d be the most 
frightful pals. And she’d know just how the flat 
ought to be furnished, and be able to dance. And I 


252 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

think she’d like being kissed, although sometimes she’d 
pretend she didn’t.” 

“I dare say there’re lots of girls like that.” 

Mr. Prince was not so sure. “You see,” he said, 
“there’s only one right girl for a fellow.” He put 
down his cue, and faced her. “I say, Doris, would 
you like to live in Mount Street?” 

She appeared to consider the matter. “I might 
like it,” she admitted. 

He had taken hold of her arms, and at that par¬ 
ticular moment the exact method whereby a flat in 
Mount Street was to become more than an agreeable 
dream, did not seem to matter at all. For all he cared, 
the Prince’s necklace might be the last of his adven¬ 
tures. “Doris,” he whispered, “we’ll always be pals, 
shan’t we? I mean, the sort of pals who’d go on 
being pals, whatever happened?” 

Presumably the answer was in the affirmative, for 
when Mr. Esmonde came into the room a few min¬ 
utes later, his entrance was not at first noticed. In¬ 
deed he found it necessary to cough. 

The gang had escaped, but there was one further 
thrill. 

In a week’s time a letter came to Half Moon Street. 

“You may have wondered,” it ran, “that I have 
not until now given you a tangible expression of my 
gratitude, but there were difficulties in my way. My 
own fortune is not yet in England, and I did not know 
what form my thanks might best take. My family 
now knows of my determination to remain in this 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 253 

country, and money is arriving. And on asking our 
good friend Esmonde what he thought would be the 
best kind of present, he made a definite suggestion 
which I am only too delighted to follow. Will you 
therefore please me and my future wife by accepting 
the enclosed, with our warmest thanks.” 

And Mr. Prince opened a cheque for £500. . . . 

A month later Miss Jennings retired to her own 
house on the far side of Sandmouth, and Mrs. Prince 
was in a state of excitement such as baffles all descrip¬ 
tion whatsoever. About the same time the reporters 
were converging upon a small village church in Kent, 
to report the Royal wedding. Most of them men¬ 
tioned amongst the principal guests two gentlemen who 
bore a singular resemblance to one another. One of 
these was a cousin of the bride’s, the other was a 
grandson of the late Sir Oswald Prince, V.C., whose 
services to the Empire would not easily be forgotten. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


Two months passed; not an unpleasant two months 
on the whole, although not wildly exciting. It was 
jolly buying things for the new house, and it was jolly 
to have your own stock-broker. Also it was good 
fun to be sleeping half the week in London and half 
down at Bournsea. In London Mr. Prince attended 
Board Meetings, and played billiards in Chelsea. At 
home he took pleasure in converting his own little 
room into something resembling a ship’s cabin, and 
conducted a regular correspondence with the young 
lady who at some future date was proposing to live 
in Mount Street. Incidentally he had purchased so 
many new suits of clothes that Mrs. Prince became 
frightened. 

And he had seen something of his new friends. He 
had driven over to Oxney Towers, and he had lunched 
at Kirkaldy House,—that huge square pile at the top 
of Curzon Street. Tom Lansing, who was shortly 
off on a voyage to Australia, had sent him some ex¬ 
cellent game. Once or twice, too, he had dined with 
Gordon Soames, and been taken to the Magic Circle, 
which is a privilege not accorded to everybody. 

Yes, a pleasant enough time, but—not altogether 
satisfactory. He was enjoying no new adventure, and 
the banking-account, although still large enough to 
254 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 255 

earn Mr. Carstairs’s respect, remained stationary. 
Also, it was impossible not to see that Mr. Wayn- 
flete did not approve of the present state of affairs. 
He kept hinting, indeed, that Mr. Prince was not mak¬ 
ing the most of his time. 

Well, there was something in what the old boy was 
saying, and Mr. Prince took a sudden decision. He 
went to London as usual on the Tuesday morning, 
but instead of going to Plalf Moon Street, he was 
driven to the Carlton Hotel. The Carlton, he thought, 
might very well provide him with a new adventure. 
American millionaires, foreign noblemen, world- 
famous travellers, jockeys and other unusual people 
stayed at the Carlton. Surely an adventure would be 
forthcoming? 

Apparently it wouldn’t. 

For three or four days Mr. Prince allowed himself 
to be as extravagant as was possible. He came to 
know various people who seemed charmed with his 
company. But anything in the nature of an adven¬ 
ture obstinately refused to present itself, and he re¬ 
turned to Bournsea at the end of the week in a rather 
poor temper. 

Three weeks later the position had become im¬ 
possible. He almost dreaded a meal because Mr. 
Waynflete’s questions had now become so pointed. 
And even old Carstairs had begun putting blunt in¬ 
quiries about his future. Moreover, Doris had taken 
it into her head to ask awkward questions. Some¬ 
thing would have to be done. Something very big and 
definite and lasting. But what? 


256 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

Mr. Prince took a walk into Bournsea. He stood 
for a while outside the little house in a side street, 
and smiled to himself, and then walked on to the quay. 
And there, with his legs dangling as usual over the 
edge, he endeavoured to review his position. What 
was he going to make of his life? To what uses was 
he going to put that devilish cunning of his? What 
exactly did he want to do ? 

Well, one thing was clear. Ever since he had left 
the Navy, he had determined to become a financial 
magnate. He would have to go into high finance, 
but into the sort of high finance which did not mean 
the merest routine. Something quite different from 
Farnham Automobiles Limited. And it suddenly 
struck him that although he had managed to meet 
all kinds of people, he had never—with a possible 
exception in the case of Mr. Welkenberg—met any¬ 
body who was really in the front rank of financiers. 
Somehow, then, he must meet one of them, impress 
him with his own devilish cunning, and become per¬ 
manently attached to his staff. “In Rothschilds,” he 
thought to himself. That was the sort of thing he 
would like to be able to say if somebody asked him 
what he was doing. Yes, but these magnates were 
notoriously difficult to approach. Probably people 
were trying to get money out of them all the time. 
Obviously, however, he must meet one of them, and 
trust to his luck. People liked him, didn’t they? 
Very well, why shouldn’t the magnates like him? 

He sat on the quay for more than an hour, and 
then suddenly rose up. That same evening he was 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 257 

in London, and at an early hour on the following 
morning he was hard at work. He interviewed a 
number of acquaintances and friends. He telephoned 
to various parts of the country. He lunched in Chel¬ 
sea, and managed to squeeze in a short game of bil¬ 
liards with Doris (to whom he explained that he was 
now looking for a permanent job), but at four o’clock 
he was hard at work again, and only broke off for a 
very late dinner. Wisely, however, he refused to 
work late at night, and treated himself to a stall at 
the Eastern Ballet, in which the incomparable Tara- 
kovna was just then delighting all London. 

Two mornings later, armed with a letter from the 
Duke of Kirkaldy, he was driven to the City. He had 
received many letters of introduction to the heads of 
great commercial houses, and after much thought had 
decided to open his campaign with the one which, in 
the event of success, would probably lead to the most 
enviable position. The Duke had warmly recom¬ 
mended him to Sir William Wenniger, who was popu¬ 
larly supposed to be one of the richest and most power¬ 
ful commercial magnates in Europe. 

Wennigers, indeed, was a name to conjure with. 
Mr. Prince knew that Wennigers financed foreign gov¬ 
ernments. They had agents all over the world. Sir 
William himself was an almost mythical personage 
who shrank from all publicity, and was never seen in 
society. Well, with Wennigers at your back- 

His cab stopped in front of a large grey building in 
Fenchurch Street. He passed into a lofty hall, and 
looked doubtfully about him. A commissionaire 



258 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

asked him his business, and on hearing that he wished 
to see Sir William Wennigir, inquired at what hour 
his appointment might be. On learning that there was 
no appointment he seemed almost shocked. 

“Sir William sees no one without an appointment. ,, 

Mr. Prince produced his letter of introduction. 
“Kindly have this letter from the Duke of Kirkaldy 
handed at once to Sir William.” 

The commissionaire lost a little of his shock, but 
still looked doubtful. Mr. Prince merely smiled—as 
one who has given an order and is prepared for its 
immediate execution—and sat down. He waited and 
watched. A little group of top-hatted men stood talk¬ 
ing close by him. People were coming and going, and 
there was a steady stream of telegraph boys. From 
a room somewhere near came the click of typewriters. 
On a table by his side was a file of the Financial Times. 

A quarter of an hour passed, and then a young man 
very beautifully dressed was borne down in the lift 
and came up to him. “Mr. Prince?” he inquired. 

“Yes.” 

“Oh,—er, I’m sorry to say Sir William is very par¬ 
ticularly engaged at the moment. If you were to 
write for an appointment-” 

“Has Sir William himself seen the letter I brought?” 

The question was unexpected, and the young man 
looked uncomfortable. “Er—you see, Prince Grebi- 
zoff is with him at the moment. Mr. Latrobe, how¬ 
ever, is Sir William’s—er, entirely in his confidence. 
You see-” 

“I’m afraid I don’t see,” said Mr. Prince smiling. 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 259 

“That letter was marked ‘Personal.’ If Mr. Latrobe 
opened it-” 

“But he opens all the letters.” 

Mr. Prince stared, and found himself wondering 
how this particular young man had obtained a position 
in Wennigers. “Is Mr. Latrobe engaged too?” 

“Er, I’m afraid he is. You see, it’s a very busy 
time just now. If you were to write-” 

“Impossible,” said Mr. Prince, still valiantly smil¬ 
ing. “My business is urgent. Will you please ask 
Mr. Latrobe to see me.” 

The young man seemed unwilling to do anything of 
the kind, but there was something about Mr. Prince’s 
smile—it was a threatening, quarter-deck sort of 
smile—that caused him to think better of it. “If 
you’ll wait a minute,” he said, “I’ll see if he can spare 
you a moment, but, honestly, I’m doubtful. He’s been 
up to his ears these last few days.” 

“I shan’t keep him for more than five minutes.” 

“Right. But—could you tell me what you want 
to see him about? It’s so unusual, you know. Is it 
anything to do with a—a job? Because I’m 
afraid-” 

“Just tell him, please, that I wish to see him for 
five minutes on important business.” 

The young man looked rather hard at him, and 
then without speaking again walked away. Ten min¬ 
utes later Mr. Prince was being conducted to a small 
room on the first floor. Here he was left alone for 
such a long time that he had almost decided to explore 
for himself when a bell rang, and he was taken into a 





26 o THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

large office with a thick pile carpet, where a sallow¬ 
faced man was writing at a desk. “Mr. Latrobe,” 
whispered his guide, and left him. 

“Good morning,” said Mr. Prince. 

The man at the desk grunted, and continued to 
write. He did not even look up. Mr. Prince stared 
at him with disapproval. If this was high finance, he 
thought, bank-clerking might be preferable. 

“Oh—er, Mr. Prince?” 

“Yes,” said the boy coolly, “and I fancy you have 
opened a personal letter to Sir William Wenniger, 
which strikes me as being irregular.” 

Mr. Latrobe put down his pen and stared. “It is 

customary-” he began, and stopped. Surely this 

was a mere boy. “My apologies,” he said sarcasti¬ 
cally, and Mr. Prince immediately hated him, “but the 
number of people who wish to see Sir William and 
whom Sir William does not wish to see, is legion. As 
it happens, I am in his fullest confidence, and have his 

permission to open all his letters. So I hope- 

However,” he continued, altering his tones—his visi¬ 
tor was not so greatly impressed as he ought to have 
been—“I gather from this letter that you are seeking 
some kind of—er, post. But in what precise 
capacity-” 

“I’m afraid,” interrupted Mr. Prince, “my business 
is with Sir William Wenniger.” 

For a moment Mr. Latrobe looked keenly at the boy. 
Then he shrugged his shoulders. “In that case,” he 
remarked, “there is no need for me to keep you any 





THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 261 


longer. If you will write in the usual way for an 
appointment-” 

He stopped. A door had opened, and a little tired- 
looking man in shabby clothes was peering in. “Oh, 
Latrobe, I want that copy of the draft you have.” 
He looked quickly at Mr. Prince. “A new face?” he 
said with a slight smile. “And what does our young 
friend want?” 

“Sir William Wenniger?” 

“Yes, my boy, what is it?” 

“Mr.—er, Mr. Prince brought a letter,” interposed 
Mr. Latrobe, “from the Duke of Kirkaldy, and wished 
to see you. I was just explaining-” 

“One Prince after another,” chuckled the old gen¬ 
tleman. “Grebizoff has just gone. All right. You 
shall come along—for five minutes. Bring your 
letter.” 

There followed an interview which Mr. Prince did 
not easily forget. In Latrobe’s room Sir William 
had seemed to him to be a courteous old gentleman 
with a sense of fun, but in his own bare office he ap¬ 
peared in a very different light. He read through the 
Duke’s letter, and frowned. Then he stared at the 
boy, and frowned again. “How old?” he demanded 
abruptly. 

“Twenty.” 

“H’m. And what can you do? Shorthand? Typ¬ 
ing? Book-keeping?” 

“I rather thought that would be a clerk’s work.” 

Sir William’s eyebrows rose up. “So it would,” 




262 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

he agreed a little grimly. “Did you expect to begin at 
the top ?” 

“No, but I’m not looking for a clerk’s job.” 

“Then what are you looking for?” 

Mr. Prince endeavoured to explain. He had re¬ 
hearsed his reply to just such a question a dozen times, 
but there was something so hard and aloof about this 
shabby old man sitting huddled at his desk that words 
did not come too easily. He knew, he said, a number 
of rich people. He was keen, and particularly inter¬ 
ested in questions of finance. In various ways he had 
already made money which had been advantageously 
invested. More important, he had played a not in¬ 
considerable part in the formation of Farnham Auto¬ 
mobiles Limited, of which Sir William had no doubt 
heard. And of this Company he was a director. 
Which meant, of course, that a clerk’s job, or indeed 
anything like it, was out of the question. And then he 
had been in the Navy, which helped a man far more 
than most people supposed. He believed he could be 
of assistance to a man in Sir William’s position if— : — 

He was stopped. Sir William had been listening in 
silence, but suddenly he held out the paper which Lat- 
robe had handed him a few minutes before. “Read 
that,” he ordered. “No, wait a minute. You know 
French?” 

“Not very well.” 

“German? Russian? Italian? Spanish? Arabic?” 
Each word was uttered in a louder voice. 

Mr. Prince was obliged to admit that he had not 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 263 

yet learnt these languages. A naval career hardly al¬ 
lowed a man- 

“Then read that.” 

Mr. Prince obeyed. 

“Yes, well, what is your opinion?” 

The boy’s nerve seemed likely to desert him. In 
point of fact he understood little of the document. 
“My opinion?” he repeated uneasily. 

“That’s what I asked for,” barked the old gentle¬ 
man. “Well, what does it say? Eh? Eh?” 

“Er—your firm,” hazarded Mr. Prince, clearing his 
throat, “agrees to finance an—an undertaking in 
Persia. It will pay Prince Grebizoff £10,000 on ac¬ 
count for his commission from the Persian Govern¬ 
ment. An oil-field-” 

“Yes, well, shall we be justified in paying that 
price ?” 

“I—I don’t know, but I could find out if-” 

“Find out!” roared Sir William, suddenly angry, 
“I want people who know. Do you know this Prince 
Grebizoff? Of course you don’t. Do you know who 
the Nizam Dullah is he speaks of? Or the Ispahan 
Hills? Or in what relation we stand to the Foreign 
Office? Or what special steps we should have to take 
to form the Company? Bah! Don’t interrupt me. 
This twopenny halfpenny motoring company of yours 
—has that anything to do with international law? 
Does the Government step in and demand to be told 
every time it buys a new car? Or puts in an extra 
telephone-box? Are the French Jews putting spies 





264 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

in your garages? Don’t interrupt. You know noth¬ 
ing at all. And yet just because you come to me with 
a letter from a duke, I’m expected to take you into my 
office, and pay you a salary! It’s ridiculous. Now 
listen. It probably isn’t your fault, and I’ll give you 
a word of advice. If you want to make money big 
money—you must do what I did, what Latrobe has 
done, what everybody who has made a success in busi¬ 
ness has done: you must begin at the bottom. What 
possible use can a boy like yourself be to me? I 
showed you that draft just to prove it. It’s compli¬ 
cated, I admit, but it’s the man who has drawn it up 
who is of value to me. I want a man like Latrobe on 
whom I can absolutely depend. How, for instance, 
do I know that Prince Grebizoff’s concession is valid? 
How do I know the exact standpoint the Foreign 
Office will adopt towards us? I know these things be¬ 
cause I have a man in the next room—Latrobe who 
for years has been studying affairs in the East. I 
pay him a large salary because he’s worth it to me. 
Why will you find the Earl of Gledstones upstairs, 
also in receipt of a large salary? Not because he’s 
an earl. Not because a duke gives him a letter of 
introduction. Not because he’s brought money into 
the firm. Oh dear no. But because Gledstones is 
about the greatest authority in the world on the South 
American Republics. In my business I need experts. 
But you—have you any special knowledge to put at 
my disposal when I want? Of course you haven’t, 
unless it be something to do with motor-cars. In 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 265 

which case I’ve got my own chauffeur. Don’t inter¬ 
rupt. It takes long years to obtain the sort of knowl¬ 
edge which is of value to Wennigers. And yet you 
expect me,—— Go home, my boy, and advertise in 
the usual way for a clerk’s job. And don’t waste the 
time of busy men like myself. Good morning!” 



CHAPTER XXVII 


Mr. Prince spent that afternoon in his own rooms. 
He was ashamed and angry and helpless. He, an ex¬ 
officer, the grandson of General Sir Oswald Prince, 
V.C., a director of Farnham Automobiles Limited, a 
man with money invested in various industrial under¬ 
takings, to be treated in this way! And by whom? 
By a miserable, wizened old man who probably spent 
his leisure in counting his beastly money. A rotten, 
miserly fellow. A brute who had only succeeded in 
building up a huge business by bribing people who 
really understood high finance to work for him. And 
a beast who had bought a title from some wretched 
government which only cared about getting the money 
for its own party. There was not a single redeeming 
feature about the man. Mr. Prince, indeed, wanted 
to take Sir William Wenniger forcibly to a des¬ 
ert island and leave him there to starve. And if 
it was an island with no fresh water, so much the 
better. 

But there was also Latrobe—a loathsome fellow 
with the manners of a hyena. Mr. Prince felt the 
greatest desire to imprison Latrobe in the darkest and 
dampest and most rat-ridden dungeon in the Tower 
of London for the rest of his life. He hated Latrobe. 
He would cheerfully have watched Latrobe being 
266 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 267 

minced into small pieces. Latrobe was an evil-faced 
viper. 

Yes, he loathed Wennigers and everything and 
everybody connected with the firm, including the 
beautifully-dressed young man and the commissionaire. 
Nothing should ever induce him to move a finger on 
their behalf. ‘Td like to boil them in their own 
beastly oil,” he muttered, and paced miserably up and 
down the room. 

It was lamentable, all the more lamentable because 
there seemed no possible way of getting his own back. 
The Duke should certainly be told, but what could the 
Duke do? Naturally he knew nothing about the real 
character of the man to whom he had written. Armed 
with that legitimate letter Mr. Prince had gone to 
Wennigers, and been treated like a small boy, and told 
to become a clerk! It was an insult, and the sort of 
insult which nobody who had served afloat and un¬ 
masked a German spy could be expected to swallow. 
And yet how could the insult be avenged? He had 
never been so humiliated in his life. Wasting busy 
men’s time! That was what that rheumatic old beast 
had said. And how was anybody supposed to know 
about those Persian dagoes and their beastly hills? 
And the Farnham Company a twopenny halfpenny 
concern! 

“Maddening!” said Mr. Prince, and looked about 
him for something to smash. 

There was nothing to smash, and the boy dashed 
out into Piccadilly in a temper. He glared angrily at 
everybody who looked in any way like a financial mag- 


268 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

nate, and when he came to Berkeley Square, he stopped 
outside a thin house on the eastern side, and had con¬ 
siderable difficulty in restraining himself from throw¬ 
ing stones at its windows. The beastliest house. it 
belonged to Sir William Wenniger. Probably there 
were scores of powdered footmen inside and marble 
bathrooms and all sorts of luxuries. A foul house 
which ought to be burnt. By what right- 

A policeman was looking at him with mild interest, 
and he passed on. Throwing stones, he saw, even if 
every window in the house were to be smashed, would 
do no good. 

And then, barely two hours later, chance, as so often 
before, came to his aid. . . . 

That evening he was dining with the Esmondes, 
and during dinner did his best to hide his chagrin. 
He admitted that so far he had not signed an agree¬ 
ment with any of the great financial houses, but haz¬ 
arded a guess—perhaps a rash guess in the circum¬ 
stances—that in the near future affairs would turn out 
very well for him. Then, when Doris and her aunt 
had retired, and the two gentlemen were enjoying a 
night-cap, words came from his host’s lips which 
caused Mr. Prince to sit up in the greatest excitement. 

“You look rather tired,” Mr. Esmonde was saying 
from the depths of his chair, “and is it my fancy, or 
are you angry about something? I’ve seen you look 
quite bloodthirstily about you at moments this evening. 
Well, I hope you’re not feeling as bloodthirsty as I 
am.” 

“You, Mr. Esmonde? But you don’t look it. I 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 269 

admit Fve had rather a rotten day, and I hoped it 
hadn’t shown. But you—you really feel blood¬ 
thirsty?” 

“I do,” replied his host. “I feel minded to curse 
every man jack of them. If I had my way, they 
should all be boiled in their own rotten oil. Then I 
might perhaps enjoy a little peace for a change.” 

“Boiled in their own oil!” cried the boy. “Why, 
how extraordinary! That’s exactly what I’ve been 
saying to myself for the last six hours.” 

Mr. Esmonde looked sharply at him. “You haven’t 
been investing your money in any oil concern, have 
you ?” 

“Oh no. But why do you want them to boil too? 
I never imagined anybody else would hate them as 
much as I do.” 

His host looked slightly puzzled. “I think we must 
be talking at cross purposes. Who do you mean by 
them?” 

Mr. Prince was about to relate his unfortunate ex¬ 
periences of the morning when he decided that no 
good could come of their relation. “I was thinking 
of a particular firm, which deals in oil.” 

Mr. Esmonde laughed. “A very different matter. 
I had in mind certain high and mighty brass hats at 
the War Office. However, don’t worry about my 
bloodthirstiness. It’ll probably wear off very soon. 
It’s a long story about oil which wouldn’t interest you 
in the least.” 

“But it probably would, Mr. Esmonde. I’m—I 
want to hear all about oil. There’s money in oil.” 


270 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“Money! D’you think I don’t know it? Of course 
there is money, if you happen to be some oil-magnate 
like Lord Bowker or Wenniger or somebody of that 
kind, but not if you’re a hardworking civil-servant 
who ought to have been pensioned off years ago. 
Oliver, why the devil aren’t you an oil-magnate? I 
could do you a good turn if you were.” 

Mr. Prince stared. “If you did me a good turn,” 
said he, “I might become one.” 

The other laughed. “I’ve no business to be talking 
shop,” he said, “but I suppose you’ll see the funny side 
of things if I tell you. Of course it’s only another 
of the usual inter-departmental squabbles. We’re all 
supposed to be as jealous as cats of one another, and I 
dare say we occasionally are. And hard things are 
said. You can’t wonder at it. When a whole lot of 
extra work is suddenly thrown on to your shoulders 
not on account of any mistake you’ve made, but be¬ 
cause another department chooses to play the goat, you 
do feel inclined to let yourself go. I admit I’ve usu¬ 
ally got on extremely well with the brass hats. If you 
treat them in the right way, they’re generally lambs. 
But it does sometimes happen,—-— Well, listen. 
What happens with this infernal oil that they want? 
The brass hats suddenly decide that they must have an 
oil-field of their own, somewhere in Asia. Therefore 
will the kind Foreign Office please see tp things at once. 
That sort of thing is constantly happening. Various 
chits pass, and we set our machinery in motion. We 
make all sorts of inquiries, and find that the Persian 
Government has just the thing. The Persian Govern- 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 271 

ment will be pleased to give us a concession to work a 
field near the Ispahan Hills, about which-” 

“The what ?” Mr. Prince’s excitement was in¬ 
creasing. 

“The Ispahan Hills,” repeated Mr. Esmonde, “about 
which our agents have been making reports on and 
off for the last five years. All quite simple, you see. 
And then when the kind Foreign Office is just about 
to inform the dearly beloved brass hats that all their 
work has been done very nicely for them, there comes 
just about the nastiest complication you could think of. 
Once upon a time, you see, there was a Russian noble¬ 
man, and this Russian nobleman obtained a concession 
to work this particular oil-field from a former Prime 
Minister of Persia. We knew all about this con¬ 
cession, of course, and for a very simple reason took 
no notice of it. It didn’t happen to be valid.” He 
paused for a moment, and looked at Mr. Prince. 
“Bored with my little tale of woe ? No, well then, I’ll 
explain why the concession wasn’t valid. It was never 
ratified by the Assembly, or Parliament, at Teheran. 
All quite simple. But what do we hear? Cipher 
cables immediately begin to flow in from Washington 
of all places. What on earth has Washington to do 
with it? Well, we learn that this Russian nobleman, 
whose name is mud, has apparently got a powerful 
American syndicate behind him. The American syn¬ 
dicate believes his concession to be valid. Then the 
fun begins. We cannot just tell the syndicate that it 
is mistaken. That would never do, because Anglo- 
American relations are delicate. No, we have to be- 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


272 

gin a curious campaign aimed to show that although 
the American syndicate has every international law on 
its side, it will be well-devised, financially speaking, to 
back out. Not at all an easy business, my boy, and 
for the last two months I have been moving heaven 
and earth to get the Yanks to retire. It nearly killed 
me, but I did it. That was last week. And I was 
just congratulating myself on completing the whole 
business when the Treasury steps in and is extremely 
grieved to find that owing to some blunder in the ac¬ 
counts or estimates or something else equally revolting, 
they are obliged to turn down the War Office scheme 
altogether. And there,” he finished, “we are. That’s 
all I get for working twenty-four hours a day for 
weeks. We’ve got our concession, and we’re not al¬ 
lowed to make use of it.” 

A queer little throb seemed to be passing through 
Mr. Prince’s body. “But you could sell it, couldn’t 
you, to somebody?” 

“Oh, the Foreign Office doesn’t sell these things by 
auction. I wish it did. No, I suppose I shall have to 
let the various big houses know that it’s going, and 
worry myself silly, and have all the oil-magnates turn¬ 
ing my nice quiet room into a bear-house. You see, 
we’re only concerned for British prestige. I expect 
Lord Bowker’s group or Wennigers will handle the 

thing. For myself, I’d prefer Wennigers, but- 

My dear Oliver,” he broke off, “what on earth is the 
matter ?” 

The boy had risen from his chair, and was staring 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 273 

at him. “Is the Russian nobleman you mentioned by 
any chance a Prince Grebizoff ?” 

“Yes,” replied his host, rather surprised. “Why, 
d’you know him?” 

“No, but I know something of him. And you say 
he’s got a concession which isn’t valid?” 

“I dare say he thinks it’s valid, and I dare say he’d 
fight the case in any courts but our own, if he got the 
chance. But after my negotiations with the Ameri¬ 
can group-” 

“Grebizoff,” interrupted the boy, “is in London. 
He’s selling his concession to Wennigers. I’ve seen 
the draft agreement.” 

“Selling to Wennigers!” Mr. Esmonde was sitting 
up erect. “But are you sure? I must see them 
to-morrow.” 

“Why?” demanded Mr. Prince. “Surely it’s their 
own look out if they buy a dud concession?” 

“Oh no. Wennigers is a first-rate firm. We 
should have to stand by them. But I can’t under¬ 
stand- No, no, Oliver, you must have made a 

mistake. That fellow Latrobe knows about as much 
as we do ourselves. He’d never allow himself to be 
taken in for a moment.” 

Mr. Prince was thinking hard as he shook his head. 
No, he maintained, there was no mistake. As it hap¬ 
pened, he had been consulted in the matter by Si** 
William Wenniger himself. 

Mr. Esmonde stared. 

“Yes,” continued the boy, wondering whether it was 




274 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

incumbent upon him to explain the exact nature of the 
consulation. “I’m afraid Wennigers are in for 
trouble.” He looked at the ceiling as a daring Idea 
came into his head. “I suppose you couldn’t keep this 
concession—your concession, I mean—secret for a few 
days, or allow me to try to raise a syndicate to take it 
over? I mean, of course, one that would satisfy the 
Foreign Office, and—and-” 

“My dear boy!” 

“Oh, I know it sounds ridiculous, but, you see, I do 
know something about the matter and this Russian 
Prince, and I think I could save you a lot of trouble, 
Mr. Esmonde, if you were to let me fix things for you. 
I can’t quite explain at the moment, but there is a 
particular reason why Wennigers mustn’t have your 

concession. I mean-” He broke off to whistle, 

and for a little while seemed to forget where he was. 
And Mr. Esmonde watched this mysterious youngster 
whose affairs seemed so frequently to be mixed up with 
his own. “I should want just a week,” finished the 
boy, and smiled. 

“But, Oliver, the Foreign Office doesn’t.-” 

“I want to tell you my scheme,” interrupted Mr. 
Prince, and proceeded to do so at considerable 
length. . . . 





CHAPTER XXVIII 


Afterwards he decided that he had never ex¬ 
perienced such an extraordinary week. 

He was not, it is true, very happy at first. It was 
obvious, for instance, that Mr. Esmonde did not look 
on his scheme with wholehearted approval, and the ut¬ 
most persuasion was necessary before he had agreed 
to say nothing to Wennigers for a week. He seemed 
to think that because the draft agreement between 
Wennigers and the Russian had been discovered by 
accident, any knowledge of its existence ought not to 
be used to the firm's disadvantage, wholly failing to 
realize the gross insults to which he, Oliver Prince, 
had been subjected. For of course it had been neces¬ 
sary to explain in part that miserable hour spent in 
Fenchurch Street. Moreover, Mr. Esmonde could not 
be made to see the desirability of his future son-in-law 
—and was not such a relationship a practical cer¬ 
tainty?—really becoming an oil-magnate. Instead, he 
talked of irregular proceedings, and more trouble with 
the Treasury, and the necessity for the strictest com¬ 
mercial integrity. 

‘‘Which,” as Mr. Prince himself explained to Doris, 
“is absurd, because of course I shouldn’t dream of 
being dishonest.” 


275 


276 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

“No,” agreed the girl, “but you are rather mysteri¬ 
ous, you know: I mean, when you’ve got one of your 
schemes on. It’s awfully difficult—well, just to sit 
still and wait till they’re all over.” 

“I don’t think I am, you know,” replied the boy. 
“Cunning perhaps, but not really mysterious. And 
yet I don’t know,” he added judicially. “Perhaps I 
am a tiny bit, at times. But then, you see, high fi¬ 
nance, really high finance, the kind when you’re dealing 
with millions and governments and things of that 
sort—well, that kind of finance is a mysterious thing. 
It’s got to be, or you’d have all sorts of people trying 
to interfere and making the most fearful mess. It’s 
the same thing, you see,” he continued, warming to 
his subject, “in diplomacy. Ambassadors and Con¬ 
suls and King’s Messengers must be mysterious, or 
there’d be the most frightful rows in the various Par¬ 
liaments, and I dare say there’d be a good deal of 
killing, too. Assassinations and vendettas and things. 
You see what I mean, don’t you? You’ve got to work 
so much in the dark. Why, Doris, suppose I were to 
tell you what I’ve been doing to-day. Well, I don’t 
say anything terrible would happen, because we’re pals 
who can trust one another, but suppose someone had 
seen me come into the house—a French Jew or—or 
somebody of that sort, and suppose he’d crept in some¬ 
how, and heard what I said! Well, you see, don’t 
you ?” 

“But how could the French Jew get into our house?” 
asked the practical Doris. “We’ve got burglar alarms.” 

“I didn’t say he would: I said he might. Or he 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 277 

might have bribed one of the servants to listen outside 
the door. ,, 

“Bribe Emily!” cried the girl indignantly. 

“Silly, Pm only trying to explain why I have to seem 
a little mysterious at times. But if you wait a week,” 
he went on, “I expect to have something most fright¬ 
fully exciting to tell you.” 

He was certainly very busy just then. The great 
scheme, he had discovered soon enough, had to un¬ 
dergo certain important alterations. Company promo¬ 
tion, when it meant hundreds of thousands of pounds 
was no easy task, even if you had several rich people to 
help you and a Foreign Office not unwilling to back 
you. And not even his work with Farnham Auto¬ 
mobiles Limited had made things any easier. With 
the motoring company it had been merely a matter of 
finding a few thousand pounds and arranging to buy 
up a rival concern. Now, however, he was being 
called on to deal in almost unthinkably large sums, and, 
in addition everything had to be done in the utmost 
secrecy. Actually there were important people who 
would have given large sums of money just to know 
what he, Oliver Prince, was doing! It was jolly to 
know that, of course, but on the other hand the knowl¬ 
edge that huge issues were involved was rather worry¬ 
ing. It was like being at sea again in war-time: you 
had to be on an almost continuous watch, and never 
knew from one moment to the next what was going 
to happen. And there were so many difficult matters 
to investigate, matters, some of them, which you would 
never have supposed could have anything to do with 


2 7 8 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

high finance. ... It all meant late hours, and visits 
to people who asked all sorts of awkward questions, 
and telephone calls at all hours of the day, and the 
writing of dozens of letters. Mr. Prince decided that 
he would engage the services of a lady stenographer 
as soon as he had wiped out the Wenniger insult. He 
would choose a pretty girl for the job, though not too 
great a beauty, because in that case Doris might be 
jealous. You had to be careful when you were deal¬ 
ing with more than one girl. But he would certainly 
have somebody young and jolly like- 

“Like Mabel,” he muttered, and smiled rather 
roguishly. 

Mabel! A new friend, almost a pal. And about 
the queerest pal you could have. A secret pal, of 
course, and rather—stimulating. Curious how he had 
come to know her so well. Mabel What-was-her- 
name? Stokes, was it? Or Stork? He was never 
quite sure. To him she was just Mabel, one of those 
jolly little girls who assisted at the Eastern ballet. 
Yes, he had become very interested in the Eastern 
ballet, and decided to see as much of it as he possibly 
could. He had made Mabel’s acquaintance on his 
second visit, at the stage door, when he had boldly 
introduced himself and declared his intention of taking 
her out then and there to supper. She had called him 
a “caution,” but had not been able to refuse the invita¬ 
tion. And they had fast become friends. Indeed, 
almost every evening during this extraordinary week 
Mr. Prince might have been seen watching the brilliant 



THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 279 

Tarakovna dance and, at a later hour, escorting one 
or other of her assistants to supper. 

Well, of course some relaxation was necessary, and 
what more natural than to take a pretty dancer out to 
supper ? 

These girls from the theatre, moreover, were ex¬ 
ceedingly good fun: not clever, and certainly not East¬ 
ern, but highly amusing. They had all sorts of quaint 
stories to tell. Mr. Prince was never tired of listening 
to their chatter. He liked to give them supper too. 
Mabel sometimes seemed to prefer him not to invite 
her colleagues as well as herself, but—well, you had to 
be wary. These girls might be jolly, but if you made 
the slightest mistake, they might do the most dreadful 
things, not even stopping short of an action for breach 
of promise. He remembered the Honourable Lavery 
Doune and his Phyllis. She must have led him the 
most awful dance. . . . But there was no reason why 
you shouldn’t be pals, and even apart from Mabel and 
the others, there was a mysterious attraction about the 
theatre itself, particularly after you had been taken 
“behind.” In fact there came moments when Mr. 
Prince wondered whether he might not have missed 
his vocation. There seemed to be continual excite¬ 
ment in the life of an actor. And as for Mabel, well, 
for all her cockneyisms and the silly things she did to 
her face and hair even when she wasn’t inside the 
theatre, Mabel was rather a dear. She expected you 
to kiss her—and to say truth Mr. Prince had kissed 
her more than once—but why not? The ordinary 


280 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


rules didn’t quite apply to girls on the stage. Besides, 
his kisses were more or less paternal. They went, as 
it were, naturally with the chocolates. 

Unfortunately not all Mr. Prince’s various tran¬ 
sactions that week remained the dead secret that he de¬ 
sired them to be, and there came a moment when it 
almost appeared likely that his theatrical adventures 
might lead to trouble. For it happened that a kind 
friend of Miss Esmonde’s reported to her the inter¬ 
esting fact that that nice Mr. Prince had been supping 
on the previous evening with an obviously improper 
chorus girl. As a result there was a short passage of 
arms. 

“Still very busy?” asked Doris, when Mr. Prince 
came to Chelsea for a well-earned cup of tea. She 
had dressed herself very daintily in what Mr. Prince 
called a party-frock, but he knew at once that some¬ 
thing was wrong. 

“Rather,” said he. “I don’t know how I found 
time to slip around here for tea.” 

“No, it must be very difficult for you.” She was 
pouring out tea with an air which she hoped was that 
proper to a slightly bored hostess. “I suppose you 
get no time for;—^er, dancing or theatres?” 

He looked at her. “I have been to the ballet once 
or twice,” he told her, frowning. 

“Oh, really? I rather thought of asking father to 
take me one night.” 

“Why don’t you? You’d like it.” 

“Probably not as much as you seem to do,” drawled 
Doris, and wondered whether she would be any good 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 281 


at an artificial yawn. “The girls are supposed to be 
rather pretty.” 

“Well, they are,” agreed Mr. Prince. 

“Really? You know them fairly well, I suppose?” 

Mr. Prince swung round in his chair. “Doris, what 
on earth is the matter?” 

“Nothing’s the matter, only I wondered how you 
found the time to take out these actresses to supper.” 

He managed to laugh, but he was a little uneasy. 
“Don’t you see, Doris, that’s all part of the big scheme. 
Business.” 

“Really? Very good business, I should think, for 
the girl.” 

“I say, old girl, you don’t think I—I’ve been asking 
Mabel out to supper because I wanted to give her 
supper ?” 

“Oh no, I’d never think that. Of course not.” 
Doris had tilted her head at an upward and haughty 
angle. “Mabel!” she continued. “So that’s her name, 
is it? How nice for you to have friends on the 
stage!” 

“Doris, don’t be such a noodle. I tell you I’ve got 
hold of a big thing. Mabel’s only a pawn in the 
game. I can’t explain at the moment because I’m 
having a sort of private revenge, but-” 

She faced him. “You haven’t kissed this—Mabel, 
I suppose?” 

“Well, as a matter of fact, I have. I had to.” 

“Oh, you had to, had you?” she burst out furiously; 
“then you needn’t expect to kiss me again.” 

“But don’t you understand, it’s all part of a- 




282 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

Oh, Doris, do listen. It may mean a most frightful 
lot of money-” 

“Money! Yes, that’s what father has been saying. 
You think only of money.” 

He frowned. “I don’t. I must have money, I 
admit, but that’s all. And if somebody had insulted 
you, wouldn’t you want to get your own back?” 

“Not if it meant being underhanded.” 

“Who’s being underhanded?” he demanded. 

There came a long pause, and then a curious thing 
happened. Only a few minutes before, Mr. Prince 
had been feeling slightly ueasy; yet now on a sudden 
everything was all right again. Yet Doris was still 
angry, or pretending to be angry, and she was cer¬ 
tainly very cross. Why, then, had the atmosphere so 
miraculously cleared? Mr. Prince did not know, but 
he did know that the “scene” was now over, and he did 
know that it had ended with himself in a position of 
advantage. 

“We’ll have a grand match,” he said at last. “I’ll 
give you thirty-five. I’ve just got time for a hundred. 
If you win, I promise to tell you everything at once— 
all about Mabel, and why I’ve been so often to the 
ballet, every single thing, Doris; and if I win I’ll— 
well, if I win, the usual, don’t you think? Twenty 
very slowly.” 



CHAPTER XXIX 


The taxicab turned into Fenchurch Street, and Mr. 
Prince felt for his change. Yes, here he was again at 
Wennigers, and in a very short while, if affairs went 
well, all insult would be amply avenged. He passed 
in, and the same commissionaire asked him his business. 

“I’ve no appointment,” said Mr. Prince, parting 
cleverly with a half-crown, “but I wanted to see Mr. 
Latrobe just for a few minutes if he’s not too busy.” 

The commissionaire assumed his usual look of doubt, 
but agreed to do his best. “Though, mind you,” said 
he, “I can promise nothing. Sir William’s not been 
here for the last few days, and Mr. Latrobe-” 

“Just give him my card,” urged Mr. Prince. “I’ve 
scribbled a message on it.” 

The commissionaire nodded, and disappeared. 

Mr. Prince sat down. All was much as it had been 
a week before. People were hurrying about, and the 
typewriters were busy. The file of the Financial 
Times was within his reach. No, the place had not 
changed at all; it was only he himself who was in a 
rather different position, as Mr. Latrobe might find 
to his cost in a very few minutes. He did not expect 
to be refused an interview. By this time it was more 
than likely that Mr. Latrobe had heard something 
about his activities. In fact only this morning Mr. 

283 



284 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

Esmonde had been saying that in certain City quarters 
there was considerable excitement—about Persian oil. 
Well, there were occasions when some clever people 
were too clever by half. . . . 

The commissionaire returned. Mr. Latrobe would 
be free in five minutes. 

Mr. Prince was taken upstairs, and sat for a while 
in the waiting-room. Then a bell rang, and he was 
shown into Mr. Latrobe’s office. “Good morning,” 
said he very cheerily indeed. 

The elder man, who looked tired and over-worked, 
merely nodded, and stared intently at his visitor. As 
it happened, he had spent a most unhappy week. 
Things had not been going well. In fact they had 
taken a turn which was actually alarming, more 
particularly as the old man himself was keeping to 
his room with a cold, and had become “difficult.” 
Most important of all, the Grebizoff agreement had 
not yet been signed. There were persistent rumours of 
a rival promotion in Persian oil, and these rumours had 
come to the old man’s ears. Sir William had im¬ 
mediately ordered an investigation, and Mr. Latrobe, 
who had his own methods of dealing with these 
intricate matters, had been surprised to discover that 
Lord Bowker’s people—Wennigers’ greatest rivals— 
were not touching oil at the moment. It was 
apparently some new combine about which he could 
learn very little: enough, however, to upset him. For 
in some underhand fashion, it seemed, somebody had 
not only learnt of the proposed agreement with 
Grebizoff, but was also in process of obtaining some 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 285 

other concession. And now in the person of that ill- 
mannered pup who had come whining for a job but 
a week ago, he was interviewing the moving spirit in 
this mysterious combine. There was no question about 
it. Those few words on the visiting-card could not be 
misunderstood. And Mr. Latrobe was undoubtedly 
nervous. He did not know what sort of opponent he 
was pitted against. He began very cautiously. 

“I understand from your message,” he said, “that 
you wish to see us about some proposition in—er— 
Persian oil?” 

“Exactly,” said the boy. “It is good of you to 
spare me a few moments, because I know what a 
busy man you must be. But I shan’t keep you more 
than a few minutes. I expect you remember me. I 
came here a week ago.” 

Mr. Latrobe was making an effort to be his usual 
bland self. “I am busy,” he said, “but the firm 
always has time to listen to legitimate business proposi¬ 
tions. On your last visit,” he added with a smile, “it 
was not, I fancy, a question of business so much 


“Quite so,” interrupted Mr. Prince with a bright 
smile. “I came here then for a very different reason. 
But, you see, when I was here, I was lucky enough to 
see Sir William himself—I generally do have very 
good luck—and in the course of our conversation Sir 
William was kind enough to show me a draft agree¬ 
ment. As a matter of fact, it was the draft agreement 
between your firm and a Prince Grebizoff, and I be¬ 
came inter-” 




286 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


“The devil!” shouted Latrobe, and bounded out 
of his chair. “So that’s how you learnt! Why, you 


He was obviously very angry, and Mr. Prince 
looked at him in pained surprise. “Of course it was. 
How else could I have known anything about it ? You 
see, Mr. Latrobe, Sir William asked my opinion about 
this agreement. Naturally I knew very little about it, 
because hitherto I’d been more interested in motor¬ 
cars than in oil. I mean, of course, from a business 
point of view. I’m a director, you know, of Farn- 
ham Automobiles Limited. Yes,” he added quickly, 
for Mr. Latrobe seemed likely to interrupt, “it was the 
Farnham Automobile Hiring Company before recon¬ 
struction. I found a good deal of the capital, so of 
course they made me a director. But oil was some¬ 
thing quite new to me. Naturally after I was shown 
the agreement, I became interested. In fact I made 
inquiries about this particular oil-field, and I became 

awfully puzzled. Because, you see-” 

“So Sir William asked your advice, did he? Well, 
I may not be as clever as you, but if you expect me to 

believe such a preposterous tale-” 

“You needn’t believe it, you know,” Mr. Prince 
assured him, “and in any case, it doesn’t much matter 
how I learnt, does it? But I want you to understand 
why I was puzzled. You see, I couldn’t make out 
why you had urged Wennigers to buy a concession 
that isn’t worth twopence.” 

“What the hell-” 

“Not twopence,” continued the boy in his airiest 






THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 287 

manner. “It did seem so odd, you know. I couldn’t 
understand it at all, because the Foreign Office people 
told me you knew almost as much about the Grebizoff 
concession as they did themselves. As a matter of 
fact I dare say they wouldn’t have told me as much 
as they did, but I was able to do them a good turn 
some weeks ago. A little business they wanted in¬ 
vestigated in the Balkans. I was lucky then, too. 
Yes, the Foreign Office people and I get on very well 
together. They’ve given me a government conces¬ 
sion, by the way, in Persian oil,” he added, and 
took out his cigarette-case. “Mind if I smoke, Mr. 
Latrobe ?” 

There was no doubt about it. Mr. Latrobe was in 
a terrible rage. He stood there and seemed to be 
battling with himself. “If you think you can come 
here,” he managed to say, “and threaten—-—” 

“Threaten?” Mr. Prince’s eyebrows rose up in 
astonishment. “Who’s threatening? I’m only trying 
to explain my own position. You see, I didn’t know 
how you people managed these things in the City. I 
was in the Navy myself, which of course isn’t much 
help when it comes to—well, you know what I mean. 
And it was really rather funny how I did learn about 
things. I learnt it all quite casually at the theatre of 
all places. Yes, the Eastern ballet, you know. I 
expect you’ve seen it? Very jolly people, I found, 
and they seemed to know quite a lot about the City. 
That’s how I found out how you stood yourself, Mr. 
Latrobe.” 

“How I stood? What the devil do you mean?” 



288 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 


“Oh, I was thinking of that £10,000 you were going 
to share with this Russian.” 

“It’s a lie!” cried Latrobe. “You’ve been spying 

on my private affairs. You’ve-” 

“Do listen ” urged the boy. “I told you I didn’t 
understand these City commissions. But I thought 
you ought to know that Grebizoff won’t be able to 
pay you your five thousand, because I expect the 
Foreign Office people will be seeing Sir William about 
him very soon, and, they’ll explain about my concession, 
and then of course Sir William won’t want to sign the 
agreement, will he?” 

“You young fiend!” howled Latrobe. 

“But these actresses are devilish expensive, aren’t 
they? Particularly the dancers. I know, you see, be¬ 
cause I’ve been meeting some of them myself. Suppers 
and all the rest of it. The one I liked best is called 
Mabel. She’s a real sport. And don’t they chatter 
away!” He seemed to be chuckling at some memory. 
“The things they said about you! And Grebizoff! 
Why, they knew all about the concession. You must 

have talked-” He stopped, for something very 

curious was happening to Latrobe. He seemed to be 
crumpling up. He turned away and walked abruptly 
to the window. Mr. Prince uneasily wondered 
whether he intended to throw himself out. He had 
learnt a great deal about Latrobe’s unfortunate infatua¬ 
tion for Tarakovna, and knew of the large sums of 
money which that admirable performer had been spend¬ 
ing. And for a moment he was inclined to be sorry 
for the man. But the memory of that insult persisted, 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 289 

and he sat there in silence, and waited for something 
to happen. 

Then suddenly the man at the window turned round. 
His face was white, and his hands were shaking, but 
he was trying to be calm. “How much d’you want?” 
he demanded. 

Mr. Prince looked puzzled. “But Pve not come 
here-” 

“You know what I mean, you young twister. How 
much do you want to keep your mouth shut?” 

“But—why—Mr. Latrobe, surely you’re not trying 
to bribe me?” Then he braced himself, because it 
looked as though Latrobe was about to attack him 
with a chair. His manner changed. “Look here,” 
he said, “Pve not come here to blackmail you, as you 
seem to think. But when a man deliberately works 
against his employer’s interests, it’s about time to speak 
plainly. You chose to treat me like the greenest of 
kids, and I admit I was angry. And when I was lucky 
enough to discover the truth about you and Grebizoff, 
I didn’t think much of you. You thought that if 
Wennigers were known to have taken Grebizoff up, 
nobody would dare to fight his concession; but, you 
see, I know very little about the great City houses, and 
I take people as I find them. I came to London to 
make money, and I seem to be making it, but I should 
draw the line-” 

“Clear out,” shouted Latrobe very hoarsely. 

Mr. Prince rose up smiling. “Rather,” said he; 
“I’ll go like a shot. But it’s curious you using those 
words, because I was going to use them myself. That’s 




290 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

what I should do, you know, if I were you. Clear out. 
Clear out altogether.” He hummed a little tune as he 
walked to the door. “Good morning.” 

Downstairs he tipped the commissionaire for the 
second time that day: he was feeling rather pleased 
with himself. 


CHAPTER XXX 


A combine! 

That was what he, young Prince up from Bournsea, 
the erstwhile Midshipman who had discovered a Ger¬ 
man spy, had succeeded in forming. An enormously 
wealthy and important combine, with the most enor¬ 
mously wealthy and important financial magnates, to 
say nothing of the Government’s representatives, upon 
it. He had been dealing in hundreds of thousands of 
pounds, and yet he had not lost his head. Perhaps he 
had been luckier, and even more devilish cunning, than 
ever before, but he had remained cool, and was now 
about to reap his reward. 

A year had not passed since he had met Mr. Elton 
and Lady Oxney, and yet already it seemed as though 
he had achieved his highest ambition. In another week 
or two all sorts of people in the City would be wanting 
to know him, and yet only a few days ago they had 
turned him away from Wennigers! 

It was difficult to believe that it could have happened. 

Well, it was a fitting conclusion to his labours. In 
the future, as he had already written to inform Mr. 
Waynflete, he was going to work harder than ever, 
but—there would be a greater co-ordination in his 
various transactions, and no longer would he be the 
291 


292 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

lonely adventurer who came up to London trusting 
only to luck. 

And so it was with a pleasant sense of security that 
he drove out one afternoon a few days after his final 
interview with Latrobe, to Chelsea. He had not been 
able to see Doris for the last few days, although he 
had frequently spoken to her on the telephone, but 
this afternoon there was to be staged a pleasant little 
scene for her special benefit. 

The cab drew up at the Esmondes’ house, but its 
driver was not dismissed. Instead, he was asked to 
wait. And as it happened, he was obliged to wait for 
a considerable time, because Mr. Prince seized the 
opportunity of giving the girl a detailed account of 
most of his recent doings. 

As a result she was prepared to believe that even 
a stage-dancer of great beauty might be kissed with¬ 
out any regrettable sequel, but could not immediately 
condone Mr. Prince’s methods of business. 

‘‘It’s most frightfully exciting,” she admitted, “but 
I don’t think you’ve behaved very nicely.” 

“No,” agreed the boy candidly, “I don’t think I 
have, but then the fellow’s such a rotter.” 

“But you did pry into his private affairs, and it 
looks as if it was just spite on your part—all this 
business with the dancers and listening to gossip. And, 
after all, you couldn’t expect Wennigers to give you 
a job just because you asked for it.” 

“I know, but, you see, Doris, I simply couldn’t resist 
the temptation. When your father told me about the 
Russian, I knew something must be wrong, and I knew 


THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 293 

at once that I should have to find out what it was. 
I shouldn’t have been able to sleep otherwise. Wen- 
niger had practically called me a fool, and I swore to 
myself I’d prove that I wasn’t. Well, it was fright¬ 
fully difficult, as I’ve told you, though after I’d met 
some of the other Foreign Office people—I expect I 
mentioned I’d been to the ballet, because they told me 
the rumours about Latrobe and Tarakovna—it was 
only a question of keeping a good look out. But I’ve 
told you all that. And as to my second visit to 
Wennigers, I thought the fellow who was supposed to 
know everything ought to be given a lesson.” 

She was looking doubtfully at him. “But, Oliver, 
it was underhanded of you, using your knowledge of 
that agreement they showed you.” 

Mr. Prince smiled. “Was it?” he asked. 

“You must see it was.” 

“That’s business.” 

“Then I don’t like your business.” 

Mr. Prince whistled to himself, and there followed 
a short pause. Then he looked at his watch. “Hullo, 
I think we ought to be going.” 

“Going? Going where?” 

“We’re going to a party.” 

She stared. 

“Yes. I’ve got a cab waiting. You’d better get 
your hat on.” 

“A party? But you never mentioned anything 
about a party. Where is it? And I’m not at all sure 
that I want to go anywhere with you.” 

“Because I’ve been underhanded?” 


294 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

She nodded. “It doesn’t matter so much about 
Latrobe, but Sir William Wenniger didn’t do any¬ 
thing wrong.” 

“If he didn’t want anybody to know of the agree¬ 
ment, he oughtn’t to have let me see it.” 

“No, but- 

“I say, Doris, do put your hat on, and don’t argue.” 

“I’m not arguing, Oliver, only you seem so casual 
about these things. It’s always money-” 

To her surprise he had begun to dance round the 
room. 

“What’s the matter now?” 

“Nothing, only I feel so keen.” 

“I can’t understand you at all. Where is this 
party ?” 

“I promised not to tell till we got there.” 

“More secrets?” 

“Only one more. I say, put your hat on, and I’ll 
tell you in the cab.” 

“Tell me now, or I won’t come.” 

Mr. Prince hesitated for no more than a moment. 
Then he flung off his overcoat, and pushed her down 
on to a sofa, and sat down by her side, and put an 
arm round her neck. “Doris,” he whispered, “I’ve 
never been so happy in all my life, and I suppose I 
shall have to let you into the secret. I haven’t told 
you everything, you know. Not quite everything. 
Of course I didn’t take an unfair advantage of old 
Wenniger. My original plan was simply to get my 
own back, but when I found out the truth about the 
Grebizoff concession and Latrobe’s affair with the 




THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 295 

dancer, I knew I should have to go back to Sir William 
himself. I went, as a matter of fact, at ten o’clock 
in the evening to his private house, and managed to 
see him by saying I came from the Foreign Office, 
which was quite true, and then I told him what I’d 
discovered, and he wouldn’t believe it at first, but I 
gave him all sorts of proofs, and then I reminded him 
what he’d said about only having use for fellows who 
had special information for him. And we talked half 
the night, and he wanted to know all about me, and 
the house in Bournsea, and about your father and how 
I’d met him, and all the rest of it. And, don’t you 
see, Doris, it’s Wenniger himself who’s at the head of 
the new combine, and it’s had to be kept secret because 
we had to find out all about Latrobe. I expect he’s 
been feathering his nest all along. Of course he’ll 
clear out, if he hasn’t gone already. They don’t 

want to prosecute. But old Sir William-” He 

chuckled. “I say, Doris, don’t you see? I’ve been in 
his employ all the time. Yes, I’ve had a permanent 
job for a week! He isn’t the sort of man I thought he 
was. Not a bit. In his own house, and it’s the 
splendidest house you ever saw inside, though the foot¬ 
men don’t wear anything like plush or silk stockings, 
well, at home he’s ripping. And, you know, he likes 
me no end. In fact he’s absolutely taken all my invest¬ 
ments over, and he’s taking me into Wennigers as 
his private secretary. And I’m going to live in his 
house until—well, until I move into Mount Street. 
And my mother’s in London, you know, and Mr. 
Waynflete, and they’re going to be at the party—yes, 



296 THE TRANSACTIONS OF OLIVER PRINCE 

he wanted them to come up and meet him—and your 
father’s going to be there, and—oh, it’s a sort of 
celebration. So that he can meet you and—er-” 

“And what?” asked Doris, attempting to hide her 
astonishment. 

“Well, I expect he wants to see if he approves of 
you.” 

“Oliver—you—beast!” 

“Yes, but I won’t tease you any more, though you 
do look ripping when you frown in that way.” He 
moved closer to her. “Doris, little Doris, look at me. 
We’ve always been pals, haven’t we? But there’s 
something else. I love you. Darling, I love you. 
And you do love me, don’t you? Give me just one 
little kiss to say you do. Doris, I do love you more 
than anything else in the world.” 

The girl’s eyes were shining. 

THE END 




















SEP 2 1924 










